


The Sound

by chloemaay



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Homophobic Language, Ian x Mickey - Freeform, M/M, Shameless AU, Shameless Big Bang, Shameless Big Bang Round 5, Violence tag is due to one incident in a later chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:03:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 129,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7164680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chloemaay/pseuds/chloemaay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years. Five years for Ian and Mickey to twist their lives together so inextricably that neither can imagine life without the other. Five years of getting to know every inch of skin, every bad habit. Five years of fights. Five years of memories. Five years of being inseparable. One moment to take it all away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sound

**Author's Note:**

> Let me start by saying that you should all go and look at [towardthegrace's](http://towardthegrace.tumblr.com/post/145738552358/shameless-big-bang-r5-the-sound-by-miserybusiness) stunning art she has so wonderfully done for me - I was blown away by what she drew for me!! Thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> I have never written something as long as this. I'm glad to be finally posting it! There is a Spotify playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/1285381532/playlist/6VXq34SuYzFqdGENxEf5c8) \- the first 25 songs match each chapter as you read - each chapter title is from the song - with another 15 that helped shape the fic.
> 
> Please bear in mind that I am not a doctor and know nothing about anything to do with brain injuries, other than personal experience or experience of people I know. Please forgive any mistakes!

  
  


 

The Day Of//

The sun had a habit of rising, regardless of whether Ian Gallagher wanted it to or not. His alarm blared from the bedside table next to him; time to get up for work, it seemed to screech. It wasn't that he had a tough job – he could truly say he was happy in his job and couldn't see himself doing anything else, and he knew that was rare – but everybody had days where they just wanted to pull the covers up and shut out the world for a few extra hours. Slowly, testing, Ian let his legs stretch out towards the end of the bed, the sheets cold; Ian tended to curl up when he slept, taking up the least amount of space on the bed possible. Not only did he find it comfortable, but it meant Mickey got as much room as he needed – and Mickey always stretched out a lot when he slept. It was ironic, considering that Ian was the taller of the two, but that was the way it worked and they just fit. Toes curling, Ian yanked his legs back up; despite the sun trying to force it's way through the curtain, the air in the bedroom was cold. Another reminder that winter hadn't quite let go of Chicago just yet.

“You awake?” Mickey's voice came out scratchy, croaky, and just a little bit sleepy. Ian rolled his eyes; Mickey had no doubt been awake on his phone, already working. He turned over and sure enough, Mickey's face was lit up by the light of his phone as he scrolled through emails. His eyes were squinting slightly due to the fact that Mickey refused to wear his glasses unless he really had to. “Svetlana text and asked if we could have Yevgeny on the weekend.”

“Isn't it Grace's party this weekend?” Ian mumbled, shifting closer in the bed towards Mickey. He stretched his arm across Mickey's bare torso and pulled him in close, breathing deep. Already it was warmer.

“Are you smelling me again, Gallagher?” Mickey locked his phone and put it aside, looking down and giving Ian a look. Ian grinned.

“I like how you smell.” He said innocently, enjoying the way Mickey snaked his arm around Ian's shoulders, somehow pulling them even closer together.

“You're a fuckin' weirdo.”

“Yeah, but you fuckin' love it.”

A shrill second alarm smashed through the moment, sending Ian under the covers with a groan and Mickey into his usual morning chorus of 'this fucking alarm'. He kept the irritating tone because it was the only thing that woke him up when he was deeply asleep, but more often than not Mickey was awake before it went off, anyway. The spell had been broken, though, and the demands of the day hung over their heads, threatening to bucket down with rain if they didn't see to them. Mickey was already heading for the bathroom. “Grace's party is the following weekend. You okay with Yev staying?”

“Of course!” Ian called after him, flinging the blankets off his body and braving the cold, immediately regretting his decision as the icy air hit him like a tonne of bricks. He swore under his breath, pulling on his sweatshirt and pants that lay on the floor where he'd discarded them the night before. They did little to warm him up but it was better than nothing. Padding into the bathroom and ignoring Mickey's attempt at singing – Adele? Really? – Ian opened the cabinet and pulled out his meds for the day, holding them in his hand to take with breakfast. “Hey, Mick. Do you feel like pancakes?”

“Yeah, man. I'll be out soon.”

Ian started towards the kitchen, trying not to let himself feel down about how the morning had gone so far. It wasn't like Mickey to forget – he'd been so careful with every other anniversary, making sure to celebrate and make Ian feel special. Hell, last year he'd even rented out an entire restaurant just so that they could be alone. Although, Ian mused as he poured himself some water and downed his tablets, this was most likely due to Mickey's intense dislike of – the majority of – people. But today, Mickey hadn't even seemed to register what the date was. They'd brushed over it the night before – never mentioning it directly, but Ian had thought they were both on the same page at least.

Ian knew what the date was, though. He'd been counting down to this day for the last few months. Today was the anniversary of their fifth year together. Five years, and Ian was going to propose to Mickey tonight. It was a terrifying thought but it also filled him with excitement. The only thing that was troubling him now was the fact that Mickey hadn't mentioned it yet.

Busying himself with breakfast, Ian focused his mind on what he was doing, rather than worrying about something that wasn't yet a big deal. They were out of eggs but Ian mashed a banana and used that instead. There was one ingredient he had to include, though, and that was chocolate chips. The very first time Ian had cooked pancakes for Mickey, the latter had quietly asked if Ian could put chocolate in them. Ian had been only too happy to oblige – he had a massive sweet tooth. The chocolate chips dotted the mixture, leaving little pockets where they disappeared into the flour. He mixed both the wet and dry together, just enough that they were combined, and set it aside.

By the time the last of the pancakes were cooking, the table was laid out with maple syrup, lemon, sugar, and coffee. It was an impressive spread. Ian glanced at the clock as he placed the last pancake on the plate – he had an hour before he needed to leave for work. Plenty of time.

“Smells fucking good.” Mickey appeared in the doorway, dressed in his usual work clothes – jeans and a shirt. Ian never got over the sight of Mickey fresh out of the shower, smelling like mint and looking like sex on legs. Mickey walked over to where Ian had just placed the plate of steaming pancakes on the table and leaned in, placing a kiss on Ian's temple. “Happy anniversary.”

So he had remembered. Ian smiled warmly and returned the sentiment, feeling all of the worries he'd been plagued by earlier disappear with one simple sentence. Of course Mickey hadn't forgotten. They sat down, Mickey lost to mouthfuls of chocolate and Ian scrolling through the news on his phone, content. If there was one thing he could cook well, it was pancakes. “So, are we doing anything tonight?”

Mickey paused, his fork halfway to his mouth and a strange look on his face. His eyes stayed looking down at his food; all at once, Ian was worried again. Mickey brought his eyes up, Ian's answer sitting in the pools of blue. “I have to work late.”

There was a flicker of a moment where Ian wanted to get angry, he wanted to yell and scream because Mickey had seemed so distant this last month or so but he swallowed it down with his breakfast, plastering a smile on his face. “That sucks. Pick up some take out on your way home?”

Mickey nodded, clearly pleased with how well the conversation had gone down. Ian was quietly raging, in two minds as to whether he should be annoyed or not. On one hand, Mickey had exceeded expectations other years; Ian hadn't been expecting anything for their first anniversary but he'd gotten so much more than that. But this was five years. Five whole years of knowing each other, growing to love each other. They'd been through so much – where was the recognition? He had planned something, the proposal, but that was only because Mandy had put the idea in his head. Mickey would have no idea it was coming, either. But Ian had expected something from Mickey this morning – even just something to say it was important to him. Ian mentally shook his head, finishing his breakfast and taking his dishes to the sink. “You mind cleaning up? I need a shower.”

–

Ian didn't even wait for Mickey to reply, before darting off down the hall as Mickey let out a breath. Mickey wasn't fucking stupid; Ian was pissed. And Mickey couldn't do shit about it but hope he didn't lose it before dinner that night – because he wouldn't wanna miss what Mickey was planning.

Sighing to himself – because fuck, he was hopeless at keeping secrets and there have been so many times he's wanted to just blurt the whole thing out to Ian – Mickey stood up and took his plate to the sink, dumping it in with Ian's. Slowly, he cleaned the kitchen; putting away the maple syrup, wiping down the table, cleaning the dishes. All the while, he couldn't keep his hands from shaking. Mickey clapped his hands together loudly, shaking them out but it did nothing – he was fucking scared and he fucking knew it.

This was going to be the biggest thing he'd ever done. It wasn't even that he had a particularly elaborate evening planned, it was more the gravity of what he was planning on doing. Asking, he thought with a small frown. Five years ago when he'd looked up from his clipboard and seen Ian's intense green eyes boring into his skull, he never would have guessed that this is where they were going to end up. The thing that scared him most was the tiny, minuscule little fucker in the back of his brain telling him that it was a bad idea, that Ian would reject him. The little voice that told him it was a stupid idea sounded somewhat like his dad and Mickey wanted to punch something every time he heard it. He wished it was socially acceptable to drink this time of the morning, although he felt like even alcohol couldn't calm his nerves. And he still had all day to fucking wait.

When he was satisfied that the kitchen looked clean enough, Mickey picked up his phone and walked into the lounge, collapsing onto the couch and bringing up his emails. His email inbox haunted him in a strange way; he saw it everywhere. Anything that formed a box like shape – windows, TV screens – he saw the interface of his email inbox. When he closed his eyes, all he could see were unread messages, waiting for his attention. He lost count of the amount of times he had to check them a day but that was how it was owning your own business – another thing he never saw himself doing. Fifteen year old Mickey would be shocked at how well twenty-seven year old Mickey was doing.

Ian appeared in the lounge half an hour later, dressed for work, his bag in his hand and with a smile on his face that Mickey knew all too well – he was not happy, but not ready to talk about it yet. Mickey only hoped that Ian would wait until tonight before he decided to share his anger with Mickey – at least then Mickey could diffuse it with the question he was planning on asking.

“Ready to go?” Mickey asked, keeping his voice upbeat in the hopes that it would infect Ian and help him to see that Mickey wasn't the asshole Ian clearly thought he was this morning.

“Yep.” Right then. One word sentences it was. Mickey collected his laptop bag and notebook, shoving them under his arm as Ian picked up his keys. They stepped out into the crisp, cool air, grateful for the little amount of sun that was piercing through the thin layer of cloud above them. Ian's car, a beat up old hatchback that had definitely seen better days, sat waiting on the road and Mickey waited patiently as Ian unlocked it. Mickey had recently bought himself a car – a treat to himself after his contracting business had a more than okay year – but some fucking idiot had drove into the back of it. While it was parked. So now Mickey was stuck getting a ride to work and catching the bus home.

It was possibly the most tense drive of Mickey's life, and that included any and all illegal shit he did with his dad and brothers when he was younger; Ian left the radio off – not like him at all – and replied with either one word answers or grunts every time Mickey spoke. Mickey glanced over at Ian, noting the way his eyebrows were knitted together, his green stare fixed on the road; it would almost be worth spoiling the surprise just to thaw Ian's mood. Before he realised it, they pulled up to Mickey's current work site. It was an old, run down doctor's clinic that was being remodelled to become a 'hip and trendy' restaurant, as the new owner's had described their vision to Mickey. Mickey didn't like to mention that hip and trendy weren't really the two words he would use to describe this particular part of Chicago. It wasn't up to him to say anything, though – he would do the job and move on, like always.

“See you tonight, I guess.” Ian said bluntly, not even taking his eyes off of the road in front of him as he waited for Mickey to get out of the car. Mickey sighed – he didn't want to push it, but he didn't want to leave things like this for the whole day.

“You got me, right man?” Mickey asked tentatively, cautiously. It was a silly tradition, really, but it was something they'd never stopped doing since the first time Mickey had asked. They'd been together for a month and were slowly getting over the newness of everything – Ian had slept over at Mickey's, and the following morning they'd been talking about work. Ian had described a conversation with someone where he'd referred to Mickey as his boyfriend, and Mickey had felt weird about it. It was the first time he'd been labelled with the word and he couldn't figure out if he liked it or not. After a brief talk – and maybe a quick fuck – Ian had grinned at Mickey and declared, “I've got you. You're mine, Milkovich.” Mickey had asked him to say it over and over again, enjoying the way Ian's mouth said his last name. Quietly, as if he was unsure – though how could he be – Mickey had said, “And I got you, man.” The smile on Ian's face had stuck in Mickey's brain for the rest of that week.

Now, Ian turned to look at Mickey, a twitch in the corner of his mouth as he fought off that same smile. “I've got you, Milkovich. You're mine. Now go to work and don't be late. I'll see you tonight.”

It was the best Mickey was going to get. He grinned and climbed out of the car, happy that the ice had melted a little between him and Ian – it was enough to see them through, anyway. Mickey stood on the side walk as Ian's car took off behind him and scanned the area; it was still reasonably early and most of the crew wouldn't arrive until around nine thirty, but there were a few people milling about. Mickey spotted who he was looking for straight away and walked over.

“Look, I don't really give a flying fuck what they said. You asked for twenty units, so make sure they give you twenty units. That's what you paid for. Now go and do your fucking job.” Grace Wyatt was not one for sticking to a professional attitude; it was the main reason Mickey had hired her. She didn't take shit from anyone but if you asked her to do something, you knew it would get done. Mickey waited as she typed out a message on her phone, her long blonde hair falling in front of her face from under her hard hat. When Mickey had hired her, there'd been comments that she was only hired for her looks, that she was fucking Mickey and that's why she got the job – that was until Mickey had asked Ian come to work with him and they very clearly made those rumours disappear. Plus, Grace showed everyone else that she wasn't there to look pretty, she was there to do her job and do it well. Nobody dared mess with her.

They'd met when they were younger and Mickey had been studying for his GED; Grace had offered him a cigarette and called him a pussy for declining one; he'd been friends with her ever since. They fell out of touch for a long time, only talking every few months or so, but when Mickey had started working in contracting, Grace had been happy to say she was doing the same thing across town. When he'd decided to hire someone to help him out a few years later after he'd started his own business, there was no one else he'd wanted for the job.

Mickey had only been a month into starting up his own contracting business that he realised he couldn't do fucking everything himself. He'd previously worked for a friend of Terry's, and he'd taught Mickey everything he knew, but things had taken a turn for the worse and Mickey had decided it was time to branch out on his own. A year later and he had made a decent name for himself; Grace had been there by his side the whole time and they were closer than ever. She looked up at him now, her green eyes – darker than Ian's but equally as piercing – looking him up and down.

“Mickey, I'm surprised you aren't a shaking mess right now.”

“Jesus, you should have been in the car I was just in. Fucking ice city.” Mickey walked with her towards her car, the base of their operation while the builders – who were now slowly starting to arrive – worked on the soon-to-be restaurant in front of them. He pulled his notebook out and took a quick glance, making a mental note of what needed to be finished by what date.

“Ian's mad at you? Why?” Ever his saviour, Grace handed him a takeaway coffee that had been waiting inside her car, taking a sip from her own.

“Because he thinks I'm not doing anything for our five year anniversary, that's why! This secret bullshit is harder than it seems.” Mickey huffed, eyes flicking to his phone as his fifth email of the day announced its arrival. He took a sip of his coffee – plain black, no sugar, no milk – and pushed his laptop bag towards Grace. “I can't wait 'until this is all over.”

“Such a romantic.” Grace rolled her eyes, pulling Mickey's laptop out and resting it on the hood of the car. “So, anything much on today? Apart from, you know, proposing to your boyfriend and changing your life forever.”

Mickey only glared, flipping her off for good measure. Grace had an almost identical personality to Mandy and it irritated the shit out of Mickey. “Why are we friends again?”

“Because no one else likes you. I was just on the phone to Larry. He's over at the timber place and they're messing him around.” Grace signed into Mickey's laptop, not even asking for the password as her manicured nails typed it in. “But those twenty units should be here by this afternoon, if he quits acting like an idiot and just asks for them.”

“He'll get it sorted. He doesn't wanna mess with you.”

“That's why you hired me, right?” Grace joked, sending him a grin. “Because I'm tougher than you?”

“You fucking wish. Have Glenfield Plumbing got back to you yet on when they can come in?” Mickey asked, his phone dinging once more. He was refusing to acknowledge it at the moment, knowing that whatever was waiting for him would take up a good half hour of his time to deal with. “They keep changing the date on us. We're just fucking lucky Dave and Gayle aren't too fussed.”

“I don't think I've ever seen two people this relaxed when renovating a building and preparing to open a business.” Grace commented, shaking her head. “Here, Gayle sent me an updated timeline last night – we still have a two week window in case anything goes wrong.”

Mickey felt a slight relief – at this rate, they would still be building the restaurant the following spring. His phone started to ring now and he groaned loudly. “Ring Glenfield Plumbing.” Mickey muttered before pulling his phone out and seeing that it wasn't work calling. In a way.

“Little brother?” Always one to remind Mickey that he was older, he could practically hear Iggy grinning down the phone. “I know you're there; I can hear you stressing out through the phone.”

“The fuck do you want, Iggy?” Mickey asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. It had been a month since he'd decided to trust Iggy with running his own job. It was low pay, and therefore low risk if he fucked up, but enough that Mickey was still worried about it. To be fair, Mickey thought to himself, out of all of his brothers, he was the closest to Iggy. When he'd rung to tell Mickey he'd got out of dealing drugs and beating people up for money, that he was on the straight and narrow and asked for a job, Mickey had originally turned him down. After a stern talk from Ian about second chances, Mickey relented. “I've got shit to deal with here.”

“Yeah, I know man. I just wanted to wish you luck for tonight.”

“Tonight?” Out of the corner of his eye, Mickey saw Grace duck her head low, avoiding his eye as she held the phone to her ear. Of fucking course. “Grace told you?”

“She was helping me out with a few things and let it slip. I'm excited for you, little brother!” Iggy said happily down the phone, and just for a moment Mickey let himself feel excited. It didn't last long, though.

“You gonna get the fuck back to work now?” Mickey demanded and Iggy laughed, only irritating Mickey further.

“You know it, boss.” They hung up, Mickey shaking his head as Grace gave him her 'sorry' eyes and ended her call.

“Iggy? Really?” Mickey asked and Grace shrugged her shoulders. “You watch it or he'll think you're into him.”

“Hey, maybe I am.” One look from Mickey had Grace backing up on what she'd said. “Calm your tits, Mickey. I'm fucking kidding. You know I'm into someone else.”

“My tits are calm, Grace. Did you call Glenfield Plumbing?” Mickey asked, scrolling through the emails on his phone and deleting those he'd already seen to.

“Yeah, no answer. I left a message with their receptionist, though. You ever see her in person? She sounds hot.” Grace said with a wicked grin on her face; Mickey knew that look all too well.

“No, and if you think I'm going to 'use my connections' – whatever the fuck that means – to set you up, you can get fucked, Grace. The last person I gave your number, you fucked and never called them back. Plus, you just fucking told me you're into someone else!” Mickey scolded, feeling like a fucking parent. Which he was. But not to Grace, thank fuck.

“I am, but she isn't into me so I need to take my mind off her!” Grace shot back hotly, clearly irritated that Mickey didn't already know this.

He shook his head and put his phone in his pocket, waving at the team of builders who'd just arrived. “I've gotta talk to Paul but chase up the plumber and ring Gayle to double check the measurements on the walk in chiller!”

Lunchtime rolled around faster than Mickey expected but it was more than welcome; he didn't usually take a break and would often spend the time trying to make a dent in his ever increasing stack of emails waiting to be dealt with. Today, though, he couldn't shake the nerves. Grace pulled up as Mickey took off his hard hat and put it on the roof of her car. He opened the door and knew where she'd been instantly.

“Burgers from that place you like on fifth.” Grace announced triumphantly and Mickey grinned, accepting his burger and drink from her as he climbed into the car to sit. He bit into it immediately, relishing the taste. “Real talk, Mickey. What the fuck are you so nervous for?”

“Why the fuck do you think?” Mickey asked through a mouthful of food and Grace raised an eyebrow. He swallowed and washed it down with a sip of his drink before speaking again. “I know it's fucking ridiculous, Grace, but I'm scared I'm gonna fuck it up or that he's gonna say no.”

“Well, you're not wrong. It is fucking ridiculous. Ian loves you, Mickey! Don't be so fucking dumb!” Grace said, taking a bite of her burger and ignoring the dollop of mayonnaise that landed on her t-shirt. “5 years, huh. That's quite the achievement.”

“Quite.” Mickey mocked, taking another bite of his burger. “Did you ever get an answer from the plumbing guys?”

Grace let out a disgusted noise, rolling her eyes in his direction. “No. No shop talk. Just eat your fucking burger and play 2048 on your phone for ten minutes, at least.”

“I'll call Ian, see how he's doing instead.” Mickey said, ignoring Grace who was puckering her lips together. “Real mature, dickhead.”

“You're the dickhead.”

Mickey snorted as he pulled out his phone and dialled Ian's work number. Ian never used his cellphone at work and Mickey entered the extension that would lead him to Ian's office, waiting patiently for him to pick up. “Hello?”

“That's not a very professional way to answer the phone, now is it?” Mickey teased, grinning into the phone as he put the last of his burger into his mouth. He heard Ian say something to Hitomi, the woman he shared an office with, before coming back to the phone.

“I must have known it was someone who wasn't worth wasting my charm on.”

“Christ, Gallagher. Cut me to the fucking bone, why don't you?” Mickey picked up his coke and swirled it around in the cup. “How's your day going?”

“The usual, you know. Sarah is insisting on cutting funds – again – so that we have less for things like flyers and information evenings, you know. It's total bullshit because those are half the reason people know that we're here and come to see us for help – take that away and we'll be helping half the amount of people we were before.” Ian's voice was weary, tired, and it made Mickey frown. Plus, Mickey thought bitterly, Ian was no doubt still mad at him for the less-than-enthusiastic response to their five year anniversary this morning. “I'm just so over her bullshit style of management.”

“Shit, man. Sarah just needs to fucking retire already.” Mickey commented. Ian's boss, Sarah, was nearing seventy and bat shit insane, not to mention more than a little bit homophobic. Mickey had met her at the staff Christmas party the year before and she'd walked away the moment Ian had introduced Mickey as his boyfriend.

“You're telling me.” Ian sighed deeply and Mickey pictured him, sitting in his office with his lunch on the desk in front of him, no doubt gazing out the window. “How's work? Say hi to Grace for me.”

“Ian! I will not tell Grace you said that about her.” Mickey said sternly and Grace flipped him off. Mickey mentally hit himself. “That was a shit joke. Forget I said it.”

“I already am.” Ian sounded like he was smiling and it made Mickey feel a little better.

“Work is work. Nothing special.” Mickey was in the middle of swallowing a mouthful of coke when he heard a yell; both he and Grace turned their heads, already cautious.

“What take out are you going to bring home tonight for our anniversary?” Ian asked. His voice was nervous, testing the waters and Mickey felt guilty all over again. He opened his mouth to reply when he spotted Ty, one of the younger builders, running towards them with something that looked suspiciously like blood down the front of his shirt.

“Fuck, Ian. I gotta go. I'll text you later.” Mickey hung up. It occurred to him that Ian probably now thought a shit load worse about Mickey than he did before – the second he'd brought up their dinner tonight Mickey had hung up, but a blood soaked employee was a slightly more pressing matter. He could explain later. Mickey and Grace stumbled out of the car as Ty reached them.

“Mickey! Sully tripped on a wire and fell – his leg is broken.” Ty managed to gasp out, his dark skinned face as pale as Mickey had ever seen it. They took off for the building straight away, panic slowly settling into Mickey's chest.

“Broken? Why the fuck are you covered in blood?” Grace demanded, her phone out to call an ambulance. They rushed through the half built structure, aiming for the crowd of people towards the back.

Mickey saw quite quickly why there was a lot of blood; Sully's leg was indeed broken, made evident by the bone that was sticking out from his shin. Mickey felt faint but shook his head, instead attempting to take charge of the situation. He could hear Grace on the phone calling an ambulance and instead knelt down next to Sully, who was crying out and clutching his thigh.

“Sully? Hey, Sully!” Mickey yelled, catching the man's attention. Mickey took hold of his hand and the guy squeezed it immediately, almost cutting Mickey's circulation off. “Hey, man. Look at me. The ambulance is on its way, okay? You're gonna be okay.”

“Ten minutes, Mickey!” Grace called over before coming around to Sully's other side. She took one look at the wound and her face went white. “Mickey, there's a first aid box in the trunk of my car. I know how to dress this – go!”

Mickey was up in a flash, pushing through the other builders who were stood around watching as he ran out to Grace's car. His drink still sat on the dashboard, his hard hat on the roof of the vehicle. Lunchtime felt like a day ago. He opened the trunk and found the kit straight away, picking it up and running inside. Mickey stepped into the building, dodging a falling nail; he looked up and saw Paul up in the rafters of the building, his earphones in as he worked away with the units of wood that had been delivered earlier that day. Mickey waved his arms, trying to get his attention but it was no use; Paul's music was clearly too loud, seeing as he was missing the commotion going on. Mickey was definitely going to have to give him a warning for this shit – Paul should know better than to have headphones in at work, especially when he was doing such a risky job.

“Paul!” Mickey yelled at the top of his lungs, feeling his throat burn with the effort of it as he stood underneath Paul. Paul jerked his head up, but the movement caused him to wobble slightly, and as his hands flung out to catch himself from falling, the plank of wood he'd been holding in place fell.

Mickey watched it as if in slow motion; it floated through the air, slowly drifting down, cracking off of another beam as it did so. There was no sound – he couldn't hear anything. He was vaguely aware that he needed to get the first aid kit to Grace but his eyes were fixed on the object falling above him. The wood twisted in the air towards him now and Mickey realised the second before it happened that his hard hat was still sitting on Grace's car.

“Mickey? Mickey!”

“He won't open his eyes.”

“What should I do about Sully?”

“I don't give a shit about a broken fucking leg right now when Mickey has just been clocked on the fucking head!”

“Mickey!”

“Oh god, oh god, oh god. Why was he standing under me? Oh god.”

“Shut the fuck up, Paul!”

“Mickey?”

“How long ago did you call the ambulance?”

“They should be here any second! Fucking shit – Mickey! Can you hear me?”

“Paramedics are here!”

“Tell them to send another one!”

“We have a man through there with a broken leg but this man has just been hit on the head with a plank of wood. He landed funny on his arm and I think it's broken. His name is Mickey. Help him, please!”

“Ma'am, we're going to help him but we need you to back up a bit. Can everybody give us some room? Yasmin, call in for another ambulance and go through to check out the other casualty please.”

“Central, we're going to need another ambulance to this address along with a squad car for statements.”

“It was an accident! I didn't meant to do it! Am I going to be arrested?”

“Shut the fuck up, Paul!”

“Mickey? My name is Josie. I'm a paramedic. Can you hear me?”

The voices were floating above him, around him, and even through him. None of them really made any sense and Mickey didn't recognise any of them. Everything was black and his eyes felt heavy – he wasn't sure he knew how to open them. He focused hard on trying to lift his eyelids but nothing happened. The darkness pressed in on him and it was strangely comfortable; he wanted to sleep.

“Grace – you should call Ian.”

“Fuck.”

Grace. Ian. Those names stirred in his head but he couldn't place them, stick them to anyone. Did he even know anyone by those names? Where was he? The ground was fucking uncomfortable and he wanted to move, maybe find a softer surface to lie on but his body didn't want to do anything. A sleepiness was slowly falling over him. Then the pain arrived.

“He's moaning!”

“Mickey, can you hear me? We're going to take you to the hospital.”

“Ian? It's Grace. No, shut up. You need to meet me at – what hospital are you taking him to?”

“Saint Anthony's.”

“You need to meet me at Saint Anthony's hospital. Mickey's hit his head. No, just meet us there. We're leaving in an ambulance now. And call Mandy!”

“Will you ride with him? Are you related?”

“N-no – I'm his best friend.”

The voices were starting to fade away now, leaving him alone with the pain. Mickey couldn't find words to describe it, he only knew it fucking hurt like a bitch and he wanted it to stop. It was as if he'd made a wish on a shooting star; just as quickly as the pain had come, it started to ebb away. Mickey relaxed; it was gone now.


	2. You Rock My Boat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wonder if you were aware how much you rock my boat."

Five Years Before//

Finishing high school and furthering his education hadn't been an easy feat for Ian; bipolar had a way of getting in the way of his daily activities, and around his seventeenth birthday, it reared it's ugly head rather dramatically. After two months of downright shitty ups and downs, and a further four months on and off medication, Ian had finally started to feel normality drip slowly back into his life. It had taken him a long time to find his own version of normal. His older brother and sister had been insistent that he go back to school and get his diploma, giving himself the best chance in life. He hadn't wanted to and would have preferred to stay at home in bed; depression had a way of doing that to you. But he'd gone back, and he'd struggled and hated every second of it but he fucking got it, and it was possibly the thing he was most proud of in his life.

Dreams of joining the army were shattered by his family almost holding him down and forbidding him to go. In retrospect, Ian knew it would have been a bad idea to enlist. In any case, he was a lot happier now. Fresh out of high school with not much idea as to where he had wanted to go next, Ian had decided he wanted to help those like him. A year at the local community college and he was offered a job there; counselling and help for those struggling with studying and dealing with mental illness. He had regular hours and a decent income, plus benefits. At only 20 years old, he had a full time job with benefits and in the middle of moving out of home; he was happy.

Mandy Milkovich appeared in his office two days after she started at the college. Ian and his colleague Hitomi would often hang up flyers or hold information evenings where students who currently attended the community college could find out more about what they did; in simple terms, they were there to support the students, with an emphasis on those with a mental illness. And so, on her second day at the college, Mandy walked into Ian's office with a scowl on her face and her bag hanging from her hands, her black painted nails sticking out against her pale skin. Hitomi was out of the office for the day and Ian was only a little panicked; it was his first day on his own since he'd started the month before and Hitomi had been there every day to help him so far. Ian looked up from his desk, suddenly feeling like a little kid playing around in his father's office, and tried to send Mandy a warm smile.

“Hi, can I help you with anything?”

Another scowl was sent his way as she walked forward, closing the door with a little force behind her, and slumped down into the chair in front of Ian's desk. “Probably not. I'm fucking failing and I want to quit but they won't fucking let me – they said I have to talk to you guys first. This is just like high school all over again.” She glanced around the room, covered in inspirational posters with pamphlets littering every surface, a look of disgust on her face. The nose ring glinting on her face only added to her tough demeanour. There was something about her that he couldn't put his finger on – she almost looked familiar, or reminded him of someone he knew. He couldn't place it, though.

Ian regarded her carefully, judging that she couldn't be much different in age to him, and made a snap decision to ignore the protocol laid down by his boss for students like this. First student without Hitomi and he was discarding everything he'd been taught. Ian had his fingers crossed that he wasn't making a huge mistake. “You wanna go grab something to eat?”

“What?” Mandy snapped, her scowl clearing and being replaced by a shocked look. “I've got a fucking boyfriend, you creep.”

Ian laughed softly, shaking his head. “So do I. What's your name?”

Mandy stared at him some more, something that looked suspiciously like the beginnings of a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth but she was clearly fighting hard to keep a hard look on her face. “Mandy. Mandy Milkovich.”

“I'm Ian, and it's almost my lunch break anyway. You keen?” Ian asked again and Mandy nodded slowly, as if still considering her answer. Ian didn't want for her to change her mind; he snapped up his phone and wallet from the desk and gestured for her to follow.

Ian's favourite place to eat was a small cafe a block down from the college; it was a little run down and Ian often left bigger tips for this exact reason. He could never understand why they weren't busier – their food was the best Ian had had for a long time and he often went there for lunch. Mandy walked alongside him in silence, her bag now sitting on her back. She pulled out her phone and busied herself on it, casually sending Ian a glance every now and then. When they arrived at the cafe and ordered themselves a meal, Ian led them over to his favourite table in the window.

“Listen, if this is some kind of wise old teacher helps the poor student bullshit, you can cut it out right now.” Mandy spat as soon as they sat down and Ian stared at her. “And I hope you weren't lying about that boyfriend shit just to get me out here. I'll kick your fucking ass.”

Ian held his hands up. “Are you kidding? Wise old teacher? How old do you think I am?” Ian demanded and Mandy's face turned a light shade of pink. 

“Twenty...five?”

Ian snorted loudly and thanked the waitress as she brought their drinks over. “I'm 20. Hardly wise or old, actually.”

“Really? I'm the same age and yet I'm stuck in a shitty job trying to study something I'll never pass. How the fuck did you get so lucky?” Mandy questioned, her nose scrunched up in confusion.

“I just did.” Ian shrugged, not really wanting to delve into the gory details of what led him to where he was. “And I was lying about the boyfriend thing, but I am gay. So nothing to worry about there.”

“Oh.” A moment of silence and Ian knew what was coming. “I was lying about the boyfriend thing, too.”

“Oh.” Ian said pointedly, a quick grin crossing his face before he waited a moment as Mandy seemed to be struggling with something. “Do you wanna talk about why you want to quit?”

“I don't fucking want to!” Mandy said hotly, earning a look from the waitress who she scowled at, but she lowered her voice and continued speaking. “I don't want to quit, but I'm failing.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know! Nothing makes sense and it all just goes over my head.” She folded her arms and sat back in her seat, looking out the window as the waitress placed their food on the table. Ian thanked her with a warm smile and turned back to Mandy. 

“What are you studying?” He asked as he pulled his plate towards him; he'd ordered his favourite. A grilled vegetable panini with fries on the side. Ian shoved two hot fries into his mouth as Mandy replied.

“ADN.” When Ian stared at her with a blank look – there were a lot of courses to learn and his memory was shit at the best of times – Mandy continued. “Associates degree in nursing. It's two long fucking years and even then, I'm not fully registered. I have to study even more after that. I'll never be able to do it.”

“Why?” Ian pressed her, taking a bite of his sandwich before something clicked and he spoke through his food. “Hang on, ADN. Didn't that course only just start a few days ago?”

“Two days, yeah.”

Ian just stared at her with a smile on his face, grinning wider when she slammed her drink down and got annoyed at him. “Two days and you're failing? Bullshit. You're going to be fine.”

“How the fuck do you know?”

Ian looked at her carefully; it all fell into place why she seemed familiar, why he wanted to talk to her outside of the office. She was south side, just like him, and he'd been through everything she was going through when he'd started studying, too. “You know Frank Gallagher?”

Mandy's face showed recognition almost immediately. Her eyes widened and she put down her burger, swallowing carefully. She spoke slowly, as if Ian couldn't understand her. “What the fuck? Yeah. Why?”

“He was my dad.” Ian stated bluntly and Mandy raised her eyebrows at him. “Well, kind of. But if you know him, you know the kind of shit head he is. If I can come from a place like that and be sitting in front of you with a good job, so can you.”

Mandy just stared at him, her resolve starting to soften a little but Ian pretended not to notice. “What the fuck ever.” Mandy mumbled to herself, head down as she took a bite of her burger. Her long black hair – with one hot pink strip adding colour – acted as a curtain in front of her face and Ian sat back, deciding not to push it too much further.

“I don't think you should quit. I also don't think you should put so much pressure on yourself.” Ian said, glancing out the window before looking back to Mandy. She was watching him now, a wry smile on her face. “But I think you should come and have lunch with me again, because everyone else here is about ten years older than me and if you're south side like I think you are, we need to stick together.”

And, like a story straight from a movie, Mandy came to visit him almost everyday. If he wasn't gay, he would have likened it to a romantic film. They would get lunch when Ian was free and dinner when Mandy wasn't working. They grew close fairly quickly and Ian was happy; he had a few friends but he'd met them all through work and they were all a little older than he was. It was nice having someone his own age and the fact that she was from the same shitty part of Chicago that he was meant that they each got where they other came from. It was over dinner at Ian's slightly cramped apartment one night that they realised how close they'd come to meeting in the past.

“Wait, wait, wait. Your brother dated Karen Jackson?” Mandy was demanding, waving her fork around in the air in excitement. “I fucking dated Karen Jackson! Not for long because she turned out to be fucking someone else at the same time but isn't that fucking crazy?”

Ian nodded eagerly, swallowing the mouthful of Chinese food he'd just eaten before replying. “Lip dated her for about a year, I think, but she got pregnant to someone else and broke his heart – though he would never admit it. Okay, what else...oh! You know the Alibi?”

“My dad used to drink there a lot – my nephew’s christening party was held there.” Mandy's face clouded over for a second – like it usually did when she spoke about her dad – but Ian waited patiently for her to continue. “Frank used to hang out there, right?”

“Yeah, all the fucking time. Our friends – Kev and Vee? – they ran it. This is fucking nuts.” Ian shook his head, going through every moment from his childhood where he might have bumped into Mandy.

“Didn't Kev sell pot at one point?”

“Every summer, with my brother in an ice cream truck.” Ian laughed and Mandy grinned at him, another connection made. “There was this one summer he grew too much and he put it all in a big fucking pile and just burnt it out on the street. The whole neighbourhood was there.”

“Are you fucking with me? I was there! Me and my brother were there!” Mandy said excitedly, her food long forgotten in front of her as she sat up straighter in her seat. “This is fucking crazy.” 

Ian thought for a moment, taking a sip of his coke. He and Mandy had almost collided on multiple occasions – it was only small, tiny things that had kept them from meeting. He wondered what would have happened if they'd met when they were younger. Mandy seemed to be on the same train of thought.

“Do you think we would have been friends?” She asked quietly, picking up her fork and pushing the last of her food around her plate. 

“I think you would have found it hard to resist my wit and humour.” Ian said dryly, sending a grin Mandy's way.

“You're such a dick.”

Later that evening when Ian was lying in bed and Mandy had long gone home, there was a buzz from the bedside table next to him. His phone lit up with a picture of Mandy's face and he smiled as he read her text message.

_My brother is annoyed because I won't shut up about you. You two need to meet soon. See you tomorrow, dickhead._

Mandy had mentioned her brother to Ian almost every time they spoke. Ian had noticed that the majority of people, on finding out he was gay, would immediately scramble to try and remember the name of someone they had known or still know that were also gay, as if it's one giant family and everyone knows everybody. He'd even played along – because he didn't have the heart not to – when a little old lady had said her grandson was gay, and did Ian know him? Mandy, though, clearly had different intentions. She'd gone on and on about how lonely her brother was and that Ian would really like him. He'd only resisted so far because he was only a month out of a relationship – a total mistake from start to finish – and wasn't really interested. It was the perfect excuse. Mandy didn't let up, though, and Ian knew he would have to give in sooner or later. Mandy had told Ian that her brother wasn't all too interested in meeting him either and that she pressured him whenever the opportunity arose – as if that made Ian any more willing.

_One day! See you tomorrow._

\---

Mickey wasn't sure that there was anything good in working for a friend, let alone a friend of your dad's. Terry wasn't exactly a model citizen and his friends tended to follow the same shitty path that he did. Mickey had been lucky enough to get the job considering his dad was still out to kill Mickey for coming out as gay, but his dad's old friend, Gary, thankfully had a granddaughter that was bisexual, and therefore sympathised slightly with Mickey. After getting his GED – at Svetlana's insistence – Mickey was now learning on the job with Gary and earning a decent amount of money while doing so.

The only thing was that he didn't get special treatment – not that he asked for it, or wanted it, but he seemed to get treated worse than anyone else did. All of the shitty jobs were given to Mickey and sometimes Gary would send him off to get lunch or coffee for everyone else. It was a giant pile of shit, if Mickey was honest, which he usually was. But only to one or two people.

“I'm serious, Mandy. He fucking sends me out with a list of coffees to buy! The fuck does he think I am? Some kind of fucking intern in an office?” Two empty beers in front of him and a third in his hand, Mickey was slowly starting to relax. He was in his favourite bar with his sister, probably the only person other than his best friend, Grace, that he wanted to spend time with. Mandy had asked him to come out for a drink with her and he knew what was coming, so he got his complaining in first.

“He's a friend of Terry fucking Milkovich. What do you expect?” Mandy demanded, smirking slightly at Mickey as he picked up a napkin and started to twist it in his fingers.

“To be treated like an actual valued member of his team rather than a fucking waitress?” Mickey said loudly, glancing around to see that no one had noticed in the crowded bar. He turned back to sister and sighed. “Right, out with it then.”

“What?” That innocent fucking face; Mickey knew her too well.

“Come on, Mandy. I'm not fucking stupid.”

“Okay, fine. I want to talk about Ian and how great he would be for you.” Mickey groaned loudly, resting his forehead on the table in front of them. Mandy prodded his cheek with her finger. “Seriously, Mickey. You know I wouldn't push this if I wasn't sure!”

“No, you fucking would because you can't let anything go.”

“Bullshit, I almost quit two days into studying for my ADN!” Mandy said in a rush and Mickey frowned at her.

“You almost quit?”

Mandy shrugged. “It all went over my fucking head the first few days. That's the detailed version of how I met Ian – I had to go see him before I could quit.”

“And he convinced you not to?” Mickey questioned, watching Mandy carefully. She hadn't told him she'd wanted to leave, and he felt bad for not asking more about how her first few days had gone. He was more than proud for what she was doing and he'd only hoped that him changing his life around would make her want to do the same thing. She'd dropped out of high school after their dad had taken off and after Mickey got Svetlana pregnant, Mandy had been insistent that she would be a live in babysitter – neither Svetlana or Mickey wanted that for her, and Mickey could tell she wanted more from life. Mickey had been right; after a stern talk from him and Svetlana, she'd gotten her GED. The decision to study even more and become a nurse had been solely hers, though, and Mickey had been quietly proud of her.

Mandy was already smiling again. “He did. He's so nice and he isn't with anyone at the moment and he's really good looking!”

“I don't give a shit if he's Steven fucking Seagal – I'm not fucking interested, Mandy.”

“You don't get it though – we could have known him so many times. You remember that block party where Kev from the Alibi burned all that weed? They were there!” Mandy was clearly excited, leaning forward in her seat and grinning over the table at him. “You guys could be like soulmates or something!”

Mickey snorted loudly into his drink, sloshing it down onto the table. “You sound like someone straight out of a girly romance movie. Soulmates?” He laughed loudly now, shaking his head.

“Mickey, I'm sick of you being so lonely – you should stop fucking around and actually try to meet someone! And look, here's me taking all the work out of it for you!”

“Mandy, I'll say this one last time, okay? I'm not lonely and I'm not meeting some fucking little community college counsellor who thinks he's hot shit!” Mandy opened her mouth to retaliate, no doubt defend the shithead she was trying to set him up with, but Mickey flipped her off and stood up to go to the bathroom.

Mandy let it drop after that, though she was in a foul mood for the rest of the evening and Mickey was glad to say goodnight to her when they parted ways to head home. The walk home to his shitty little house was short; he was unlocking his front door within five minutes of saying goodbye to his sister. He'd gotten lucky finding this place – it was nothing fancy, one bedroom, small. It was his, though, and after growing up with a fucking bathroom off of his bedroom where he couldn't get a minutes fucking peace – it was fucking heaven. 

Looking around at the place, he felt one of Mandy's words hit him square in the chest: lonely. Even when he had Yev, even on days when Grace would visit, he was lonely. And there wasn't much he wanted to do about it – Yev was still so young, and he didn't want to confuse the kid by bringing different guys in and out of his life. The occasional bang suited him fine; he wasn't down for anything more.

When Mickey woke up the next morning, the feelings of loneliness from the night before were still hanging around, sitting heavy on his shoulders as he got ready for work. He pushed it aside and refused to think about it; fuck Mandy for trying to ruin what he had always thought was a perfect system. Bang some fucker on the weekend he doesn't have Yev, and then spend time with his son and Grace – and Mandy if she was lucky, which she usually was – on the other weekend. Now he found himself absent-mindedly wondering about sharing his life with someone else, and how that would feel. Fucking sisters.

“Mickey! Good morning, sunshine. We had a big job come in today so I'm going to head over there this morning and talk to them about what they want, do the initial consultation. You can hold everything down here?” It wasn't really a question, Mickey thought bitterly, even though Gary's voice made it sound like it was. Normally he would grin and bear it; it wasn't a bad office to work in and he would often bullshit that he was busy sending out emails like Gary had asked when in reality, he was reading blogs or articles on contracting and starting your own business. Today, though, he was still in a foul fucking mood after the night before and letting Mandy get to him; he wasn't going to sit around today.

“Actually, Gary, how about I go with you? You said yourself I need more hands-on work but you don't actually give me any. I could come with, take notes?” Mickey had to think of each word carefully as he spoke, desperate not to swear. Normally Gary wouldn't give a shit but Mickey wasn't taking chances. Mickey was also going to casually ignore the fact that he'd forgotten his glasses that day – he'd forge on without them. “What do you think?”

Gary stared at him, his grey bushy eyebrows knitting together as he thought about Mickey's words. “Who would field the emails that came in?”

Fuck it. “I can answer them all when I get back?” Mickey suggested, knowing there would be fucking heaps for him to answer but Gary was actually thinking about it and Mickey was crossing his fingers.

“Alright, then. Get a spare clipboard from the supply cupboard, some paper and a pen. Only write down what I tell you to and don't speak. Just listen.”

And that was how Mickey found himself outside the community college on a rainy afternoon with his clipboard pressed to his chest to save the paper from getting wet but a big dumb smile on his face because he was actually here, on a job. On the drive over he'd text Mandy and told her to look out for him but he ignored his phone as it buzzed in his pocket – he was on the job, now. He followed Gary silently through to reception where he spoke to someone who then directed them to sit down on the chairs opposite the desk. They did as they were told, Mickey almost bouncing from excitement.

“Gary Anderson?” A voice called and both Mickey and Gary turned to see a woman standing in the doorway next to where they sitting, a smile on her face as she beckoned the two of them towards her. “Hi, I'm Claire Waters and I'm in charge of this project. I know we agreed on this time to meet but unfortunately something has come up and I only have ten minutes – I'll run you through where and what we're thinking, and if you need any more details you can email me. Does that sound okay?”

Mickey let Gary and Claire talk as he looked around the small office and the hallway up ahead. It was long and had several doors coming off of it – clearly all administrative. Claire gestured for the pair of them to follow and Mickey took a risk. “What made you decide on the extension?”

Gary shot him a look but he immediately twisted it back into a smile as Claire gave Mickey a warm look, gesturing to the walls around them. “More students than ever equals more teachers. We need to accommodate them.”

Mickey nodded, not really sure on how to reply. They walked up the hallway, coming to a stop outside one of the doors. Gary glanced around before looking back at Claire. “Talk me through what you're thinking.”

As she spoke, Mickey took down everything she said down. Fucking everything. Gary had said to only take down what he told him but Mickey wasn't taking chances. He wasn't going to put up with Gary getting back to the office and deciding that Mickey had done a shit job and left something vital out. They were taking up most of the hall as Claire explained exactly what she was wanting from them. Mickey nodded along with Gary, though he wasn't taking much in – he was only making sure he wrote down every single word. There was a noise behind him but Mickey ignored it. Gary started talking and Mickey used that opportunity to bring the clipboard close to his face and double check he'd gotten everything so far. He usually wore his glasses, or at least took them to work, but of course he'd fucking forgotten today of all days. Mickey only needed them for reading – according to Iggy, his mother had had similar eyesight problems. The words stayed blurry until they were only inches from his eyes.

“Um, excuse me.” Mickey whirled around at the voice, correcting a word on his paper before he pulled the clipboard down, his eyes connecting with the greenest eyes he'd seen since meeting Grace. He stared for a minute, taking in the red hair and tall physique before Mickey realised what he'd said and moved out of the way for the guy. He smiled warmly at Mickey. “Thank you.”

“No problem, man.” Mickey replied, not returning the smile but storing it away because fuck it, it was a nice fucking smile and Mickey wouldn't mind remembering it later. He turned back to Gary as the man walked past and Mickey watched him go but fuck no, Mickey was not checking out his ass.

“Okay, well I think that's everything. I really have to go but have a little look around and take any measurements you need to. Thank you for coming in and I apologise for not being able to spend more time with you.” Claire said clearly, looking between Mickey and Gary. She smiled at the pair of them. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

“Thanks Claire. Nice meeting you.” Gary said, shaking her hand briefly. Claire stopped in front of Mickey and held out her hand; he shook it firmly, making sure to keep eye contact. Isn't that what they taught you? It seemed to do the trick.

“Thanks.” Mickey said, in his most professional voice. Claire nodded and walked back towards the office door where she'd appeared from and Mickey turned to Gary. “That went well.”

“It did, even though I told you to shut the fuck up and take notes.” Gary said roughly under his breath, smiling at a woman who passed them by. He snatched the clipboard and pen out of Mickey's hands. “I'll be back in a minute. Stand right there and wait for me, if you can manage that.”

Mickey watched him go, feeling a small sense of disappointment but he wasn't sure why; he didn't regret speaking up. He'd hardly taken over the conversation – merely asked a question to establish himself as something other than an idiot standing around with a clipboard in his hands. He felt disappointed in himself. Mickey slumped against the wall as Gary disappeared around a nearby corner. He wanted Gary to take him seriously and actually fucking teach him something but that didn't look like it was happening any time soon. It felt like he would never let Mickey do anything on his own or prove his own worth.

“Is that all you builders do? Stand around holding walls up?” The redhead was back and he was gesturing to Mickey leaning against the wall as if his life depended on it with a playful grin on his face. Mickey stood up straight with a start, swiping his thumb over his bottom lip and looking the redhead up and down.

“Among other things.” Was Mickey trying to flirt? Is that what he'd just done? He did not flirt, but apparently he was giving it a fucking go today, but he had no idea what had brought it on. “What do you do here, Red?”

He smirked at the nickname, shoving one hand in his pocket as he regarded Mickey in the same way Mickey had just done to him. “I'm a counsellor.”

_'He has gorgeous red hair!'_

_'If he wasn't gay I would have fallen for those green eyes already.'_

_'He's great at his job – he's a counsellor.'_

Mandy's voice was echoing in his head, around and around until Mickey realised he hadn't replied and Red – Ian? – was staring at him with a funny look on his face. Mickey cleared his throat gruffly; Mandy had been right in saying Mickey would be attracted to Ian. He'd taken away Mickey's fucking ability to speak, for fuck's sake. Mickey held out his hand and as Ian shook it he said, “I'm Mickey, and if I'm right, you're Ian.”

Ian's eyes widened for a second before he made the connection himself, his eyes roaming over Mickey again, lingering on his tattooed knuckles and – Mickey didn't fucking miss it – on Mickey's lips. “Mandy's brother?”

“The one and fucking only.” Mickey said dryly, opening his arms wide before letting them drop to his sides, suddenly feeling self-conscious. What had Mandy told Ian about him? “Well, there are more of us.”

“Your company is doing the extension?”

“Mine?” Mickey barked out a laugh before a nervous look to make sure Gary was nowhere near. “Not mine. A friend of my dad's.”

“Nice.” Ian said, nodding. They stood there for a moment, neither saying anything. The only thing running through Mickey's head was that Mandy was going to rub it the fuck in that she was right – he wanted Ian's number and he had no idea how to ask for it. “Anyway, I better get back to work. Nice to meet you!”

Before Mickey even got a chance to mumble out some form of pick up line, Ian walked past him and into an office door a little further along the corridor. Mickey contemplated following but Gary suddenly appeared at his side, clipboard in hand.

“Let's get out of here, kid.”

Mickey had no choice but to follow, like some child tailing his parents in a busy shopping centre. He chanced a peek into Ian's office as he went past and, as if he could fucking see through walls and see him coming, Ian was sitting at his desk staring out into the hall with a sly grin on his face. Mickey looked away, staring at Gary's slightly balding head as they made their way out of the building. The rain had stopped and left thick damp air in its wake. It wasn't until they were climbing into the car that Mickey decided he'd had enough of being lonely and fuck it, Mandy wasn't right about everything but she was so fucking right about this and he hated it.

“Gary – I, uh – I left my phone in there. Two seconds.” Mickey jumped out of the car before Gary could complain or point out the phone shaped lump in Mickey's pocket. When he was inside the building, he pulled it out and opened up the new contact page. His heart was thumping – how was asking someone for their number harder than asking someone to bang? His head was telling him to just get the number off of Mandy but he wouldn't forgive himself if he turned back now. With a deep breath, Mickey stood in the doorway to Ian's office and knocked lightly.

Ian looked up, his eyes lighting up his face along with the smile he sent Mickey's way. “Mickey? Everything okay?” The look on his face told Mickey that Ian knew exactly why Mickey had come back. Asshole was going to make him spell it out.

Mickey cleared his throat again, ignoring the nerves that were twisting his insides. “Nah – I mean, yeah.” The other person in the office, an older woman with short black hair, was pointedly looking away from the train wreck that was Mickey right now. “Yeah, everything is good. I just wondered if you wanted to go for a drink sometime – you know, make Mandy happy.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “She go on and on at you, too?” Mickey felt relief wash through him as Ian held out his hand for Mickey's phone which he passed over, talking as he entered his number. “She didn't make you do this, did she?”

Mickey tried his hand at the flirting thing again; his most suggestive smile, coupled with a wink. What the actual flying fuck was that? Ian cocked his head to the side, as if trying to work Mickey out, but he was still smiling. Mickey had no idea why. “No, all me. I'll give you a call later.”

“Okay. See you soon!” Ian's voice was bright and Mickey wondered if he was trying not to laugh at the mess that Mickey had just made of his self. Fucking fuck. Did Mandy happen to mention to Ian that Mickey was a giant fucking winking idiot?! He turned and left, letting his face fall the moment he was out of Ian's sight. Who the fuck was he just now?


	3. Kept Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I will guide you down."

_Day Of//_

Ian had always loved his car. It was old, and it was shit, and half the time it didn't want to work – especially in the winter – but it was his. He'd paid for it with his own money and he wasn't about to get rid of it. Today, though. Today he wanted to drive it into a brick wall and buy the fastest model that he could afford. Mickey had been hurt at work and he couldn't get there any faster than his shitty car would take him and it was bringing out the worst in him as he drove. He swore at every other car on the road and ran at least two red lights.

He couldn't tell much from Grace's voice over the phone. It was clearly bad enough that he was being taken to hospital – a hit to the head, wasn't that what Grace had said? Ian cast his mind back, desperate to remember her exact words. Worst case scenarios were floating in and out of his head like a show case; amputated limbs, paralysis. Ian had no idea what to expect and that only made the worry worse. He was weaving through cars, driving recklessly but he didn't give a shit. He needed to get there, he needed to see Mickey's dumb smiling face and know that he was okay.

_'And call Mandy!'_

Shit. He hadn't done that yet. Ian slowed down his driving slightly and grabbed his phone from the passenger seat; he was breaking all kinds of laws today. He tapped the phone until Mandy's name showed up and he hit dial, waiting not-so-patiently for her to answer.

“Hey, what are you calling me for? Shouldn't you be at work?” Mandy's voice was upbeat, happy. She had no idea and Ian didn't even really know what to tell her. Was Mickey's injury even that serious? Grace hadn't been clear and he was tempted to hang up on Mandy, ring Grace and find out what the fuck was going on. Ian didn't know what to tell Mandy; he only knew he was about to ruin her day.

“Mandy, you need to get to Saint Anthony's hospital. Mickey hit his head at work.” Ian said steadily, feeling a strange calm settle over him; he had always been the level head in stressful situations, always looking after anyone else involved. When his parents would fight, he would be there with Fiona and Lip trying to look after the younger ones. He was always looking out for others, and never himself. On his own, he freaked the fuck out. That clearly hadn't changed. “Can you meet us there?”

“What? Is he okay? Who do you mean by us? What the fuck is going on?”

“Grace told me to call you. I don't know anything other than the fact that he hit his head. Are you at work?” Ian swerved suddenly as a car pulled out in front of him; he blasted his horn.

“Yeah, shit. I'm at work. Get off your phone, you fucking idiot or it'll be you in there, too. See you soon.” Mandy hung up, leaving Ian to go over the scenarios in his head again. 

It crossed Ian's mind briefly that he should call other people; Iggy, for starters. Debbie was close to Mickey – she would often take the kids she looked after to visit Mickey at whatever building he was working at. They'd grown incredibly close over the years that he and Mickey had been together and she would want to know. He made a mental note to call her when he parked up at the hospital – he wasn't driving safe enough to be on the phone, too. He'd already risked that once.

Finally, fucking finally, the turn off for the hospital appeared and Ian almost tipped the car turning the corner as fast as he did. Of course, on a day he needed to get inside as fast as he could, there were no parks on the first two floors of the parking complex; he put his foot down and got to the top floor, swinging into the first park he spotted. Ian was out of the car within seconds, his phone in hand and worry coursing through his veins. He jabbed the button for the lift but the numbers above it showed it was still on the first floor; Ian could run down the stairs in the time it took to come up to where he was waiting.

Puffing slightly with the effort of it, Ian was halfway down the first flight of stairs when he pulled out his phone and dialled Debbie's number.

“Melissa, if you hit your brother one more time, we aren't going to the movies next week!” When Debbie was at work, she never greeted the phone normally. Ian waited as Melissa replied in the background and Debbie finally spoke to him. “Ian, what's up? I'm at work.”

Debbie sounded stressed – not like her, but Ian knew working with kids was never a walk in the park. “I'm sorry to bother you at work -”

“Where are you? Are you running?”

“Kind of. Listen, I know you're busy but when you get off work, could you come to Saint Anthony's hospital? Mickey's had an accident at work and has been brought here.” Ian's voice was again surprisingly calm, just like it had been with Mandy. He reached the bottom of the stairs, bursting through a door and out into the warm sun of the early afternoon; it had warmed up considerably since that morning. It felt like ages ago that he was lying in bed, not wanting to get up. They should have stayed at home.

“Shit, Ian. Is he okay? Are you?” He couldn't answer any of her questions, and as he crossed the road towards the emergency entrance, he wondered if he would like the answers that were to come. “I'll talk to Laura and see if she can finish work early so I can get out of here. She'll understand.”

“Oh, Debbie. You don't have to.” Ian's protests were weak, though; he wanted her there.

“Don't be ridiculous. You know what Laura is like – I'll be there as soon as I can. Text me if anything changes.” He knew what she meant by 'changes' and he wasn't willing to think about it. Debbie's boss, Laura, was possibly the best boss anyone could ask for. She gave Debbie days off when she needed them and every Christmas gave her a decent bonus. Debbie often joked that she'd still be nannying for the family when the kids were in their nineties. Debbie hung up just as Ian burst into the emergency department, desperately looking around for a sign of familiarity.

“Ian!” Grace's voice cut through the sounds of machines, nurses and doctors talking and – christ – someone crying. Being here was sending his anxiety levels sky high but he thought of Mickey and took a deep breath, trying to find Grace. “Over here!”

He spotted her and felt a rush of relief, though it was short lived; her usually clear face was blotchy and red, her eyes bloodshot. It was not a good sign. Ian moved around the centre desk where a receptionist was talking to two nurses and entered the cubicle. There was no sign of Mickey, but an empty spot where he guessed Mickey's bed had been. Grace pulled him into a hug the second she was in arm's reach, clutching him tightly.

“What's happening? Where's Mick? How is he doing?” Ian demanded all at once, feeling tears threatening at the corner of his eyes for the first time that day. He was hoping it would be the last, that they would get good news and be home later, laughing about the whole experience. Ian could give Mickey a stern talk about being careful at work but they'll both know it's only because he was so worried. Mickey will give Ian that look that gets him every time and it will all be okay. It will be okay. It had to be.

Grace took a deep breath, stepping back from Ian and sitting down in the one seat that was behind her. A shaky hand pushed a stray blonde hair from her eyes. “A wooden plank fell from the ceiling and got him on the head; he was out of it from then, kind of in and out of consciousness. The doctors haven't told me anything, though – they had him here for all of five minutes and then took him off for scans and shit. I have no idea how he's doing but he's alive. Ian – he didn't have his hard hat on.”

“Fuck.” Ian breathed. Ian felt a tinge of panic at the thought and it was joined by one thought; brain injuries were never simple. Mickey would not be coming home tonight. “How are you?”

Grace shrugged, scrunching her face up in a grimace. “I don't know what to feel. I just want to know what's going on. Did you call Mandy?”

“She's on her way.” Ian nodded. “I called Debbie, too.”

“Oh, shit! Iggy and Svetlana!” Grace pulled her phone out of her pocket and stepped out of the emergency area, leaving Ian to sit down in the seat she'd just vacated. A brain injury. Fuck. Ian still had no idea if there were any other injuries; thank fuck Mickey had decent insurance. A doctor walked past slowly and Ian stood in a rush, hoping that she would tell him something but she continued past, not looking in his direction. He sat back down, feeling hopelessness begin to overtake him.

“Iggy's on his way. Svetlana will come over before she picks up Yev from school.” Grace had arrived back, her arms folded across her chest. Ian stood up to let her sit but she shook her head. “I wanna stand for a bit. Shit. I can't fucking believe this.”

“Neither can I. I feel so awful – we were on the phone before he left because of some accident?” Ian looked at Grace, his eyebrows raised in question and she nodded sadly.

“One of our guys broke his leg. He's up in surgery. He'll be fine, though. I have someone up there with him.”

“Fuck. What a day. But I was so horrible to him – to Mickey. On the phone. I wouldn't shut up about our anniversary because he had to work late and I was so mad at him for it.” Ian let his head hang low, running his hands over his face. “What if -”

“Don't. Don't fucking do that to yourself, Ian. We don't know what's happening yet, okay?” Grace's voice was firm, contradicting the worry in her eyes and the tremor in her hands. “I don't want to say anything but he was planning something for it, Ian. He hadn't forgotten or decided to work late on purpose.”

Two pairs of green eyes met, their only visible thing in common, and an understanding passed between them. Grace was Mickey's best friend and Ian trusted her. Plus, he thought with a pang of nerves, he'd rather worry about how Mickey was going to be than some dumb anniversary that hardly mattered now. Ian smiled gratefully at Grace, his arm leaning on the arm of the chair and sitting his chin in his hands. “How long ago did they take him for scans?”

“Well, we'd only been here about fifteen minutes before you turned up, so maybe ten minutes ago? They said they'd send a doctor as soon as they could to talk to us.” Grace explained as she paced slowly, dragging her feet and glancing up at everyone who passed by.

An older looking nurse appeared at their cubicle with Mandy at her side. “Here you are, dear.”

“Mandy!” Grace and Ian chorused, both moving to hug her. It was an awkward three way hug but nobody cared; they broke apart and Ian saw tears at the corners of Mandy's eyes. She was still in her nursing uniform, but for a different hospital to the one they were in.

“Is he alive?”

“Shit, fuck. Yes. He's alive.” Grace gasped out, shaking her head at the thought. “He's having scans at the moment. No idea what's going on, to be honest.”

“Fuck. Okay. Okay.”

They all stood there awkwardly before Grace swore under her breath and went next door to the empty cubicle and brought another chair in. She offered it to the pair of them and repeated her words from earlier. “I'd rather stand at the moment.”

Noises of the hospital filtered in as they grew silent; across the opposite side of the emergency department, a woman was crying happily as her baby daughter was handed back to her. They left a few moments later and Ian found himself watching them with jealousy, the mother holding her child close. Two doctors were arguing in whispers a few cubicles over from Mickey's and Ian wanted to know why, he wanted to listen and take his mind off what was going on. There was a rush of medical staff to a room further down and Ian closed his eyes; he didn't want to know any more. He just wanted to see Mickey.

As if wishing on a star, a doctor suddenly appeared in front of them. Ian instantly liked her, though he wasn't sure why. Her hair fell around her shoulders in soft brown curls and to Ian, she didn't look like a doctor. She looked like someone who you would want to be friends with, someone who you could talk to over coffee. Her smile reached her eyes which were worn around the edges; she stepped into the cubicle and addressed them all.

“Hi, everyone. You are all Mickey Milkovich's family and friends?”

“I'm his sister, Mandy, and this is his partner Ian. This is Grace, his best friend who rode in the ambulance with him. Is he okay?” Mandy rushed out in one breath, standing the closest to the doctor with a desperate look on her face.

“Nice to meet you all. I'm Dr Castillo and I'll be looking after Mickey.” She took a breath and Ian felt his heart stop momentarily. “He's doing okay. His arm is broken but that's already in a cast and will be fine. It's not a serious break – I believe he's broken it in the past? It's not a major issue.”

“How is his head?” Grace asked carefully; Ian felt as if the doctor was avoiding the subject and he was desperate for answers, though he desperately didn't want to hear them, either.

“We're still unclear as to the extent of the damage to his brain. Several scans have been done but at this stage, it's too early to know anything for sure. It's common with even small knocks to the head for swelling to show – it's hard to know the severity of anything yet. He'll be staying in a ward tonight and won't be ready to see anyone at this stage – he's still quite out of it and confused about what's going on.” The thing that stuck the most was the confirmation that Mickey wouldn't be home that night. Ian had to go home alone. Sleep in the bed alone. That thought, more than any other, caused tears to form in his eyes.

“Can we see him in the morning?” Ian glanced at his watch as Mandy spoke; it was only two in the afternoon. How was this his day today? He couldn't believe that he'd been worried about their anniversary only a few hours ago.

“It will all depend on how he goes throughout the night; we will need to bring you in at some point so we can see what his memory is like. He's aware of what year it is and what month; the date is failing him but that is incredibly common with any head injury, moderate or severe.” Dr Castillo paused and looked evenly at the three of them. “You're more than welcome to wait here overnight but you won't be able to see him until at least tomorrow morning, possibly not even then.”

They all stared at the doctor, as if desperate for her to say something else, something better. She only smiled sadly at them. “If you need anything, please ask. You can reach me on this extension if I'm not around or you're at home.” She handed over a card to Ian but addressed all three of them. “Please, don't hesitate. I understand that this is a hard time not knowing anything at the moment – I'm happy to answer any questions that I can.”

“Can we wait around for a bit – just in case we might get to see him later?” Mandy's voice was breaking, painfully optimistic and everyone in the room knew what Dr Castillo's answer would be. “I know you wanna say that we can't see him but fucking humour me.”

“You can stay as long as you need to. He'll be on the third floor in ward 7; you can wait in the waiting room up there. When I know his room number, I'll let you know.” Dr Castillo nodded at them and backed out, leaving them to their thoughts. There was no time for anything, however, when someone else appeared.

“Debbie!” Ian gasped out. He hadn't realised how much he had needed to see his sister before now; the sight of her worried face made him feel just that little bit better. She rushed forward and pulled him into a hug, waving a hello at Grace and hugging Mandy. “Laura let you go home?”

“Of course she did. How is he?” Mandy filled her in as the others listened to her repeat everything the doctor had just told them. “Shit. We heading up to the ward now, then?”

Ian nodded tightly and waited as Grace picked up her bag. They stepped out of the cubicle and back through the emergency department, towards the lifts. As they walked, Debbie slipped her hand into Ian's and he squeezed it gently in response. The silence between them all was tense, their collective worries about Mickey hovering over their heads. Debbie pulled out her phone and sent a text, giving Ian a soft smile as she did.

“Lip's here; he's getting us all coffee. I just told him where to meet us.” Debbie explained, and Ian was surprised; Lip and Mickey had a love-hate relationship. But then, he thought with a sad swoop in his stomach, this was a serious situation. Fuck.

The lift opened up to the third floor and they followed the directions to ward 7. Although it was the middle of the afternoon, it was surprisingly quiet. A sign on the wall read 'Long Term Critical Care' and Ian wanted to throw up. He ignored it as they rounded a corner; the hallway opened up to the waiting room the doctor had mentioned. It was thankfully empty and they collapsed into chairs together, still silent. At the other end of the waiting room, it narrowed into a hall and Ian could see rooms further down, along with a nurses station. He wanted to see Mickey, regardless of what his memory like or even if he was asleep – he just wanted to see him and touch his face, know for sure that he was alive.

“Lip, hey.” Debbie's soft voice interrupted his thoughts and he turned to see his brother somehow balancing five coffees in his hands, stacked up high like a tower. Debbie rushed up to help him and handed them out; Ian accepted his but found it only gave his hands something to do other than fidget. He didn't want anything to drink.

“How's he doing?” Lip asked quietly, sitting in chair opposite Ian. It was Grace's turn to run through everything the doctor had said and Lip nodded slowly as she spoke. “Fucking hell. So you don't know when you'll get to see him?”

“Not yet.” Mandy shook her head. “Possibly tomorrow morning, possibly afternoon.”

“Ian?” Lip's voice was quiet; it reminded Ian of when they were kids, only five or six. He and Lip would stay up without Fiona knowing, hiding under the blankets and sharing stupid ghost stories. It was a useless memory that did nothing to make him feel better and he dragged his eyes up to meet Lip's. The worry on his face only annoyed Ian. “You doin' okay?”

Ian shrugged slowly, not really sure how to answer the question. It was Mickey who was hurt. “Just waiting. Like everyone else.”

“I know you want to stay but if you really can't see him tonight, you should go and get some sleep.” The glare that Ian sent Lip's way told his brother all he needed to know. Ian wasn't going anywhere. Not yet. Ian closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall as Grace and Mandy started talking softly.

“Svetlana is on her way up, Ian.” Mandy was in front of him when he next opened his eyes, maybe ten minutes later, gesturing for him to follow him. They made their way back through the corridors to the lifts to meet Svetlana. “Ian?”

“Hmm?” Ian stared at the lift doors, waiting for them to open. His mind was slowly going blank; he didn't want to think about anything, he didn't want to wonder what was going to happen. He wanted to see Mickey and bring him home.

“Can I stay with you tonight? At your place?” Ian had never seen Mandy like this; to be fair, he'd only known her a little longer than he'd known Mickey and in that time she'd told him all about her dad, and how much of a shit he'd been. Ian had gotten the impression that nothing really bothered her, though – she was strong and could seemingly handle anything. But that strength was being tested now, and Ian knew it was because Mandy and Mickey were the closest out of all of their siblings. She was just as afraid to lose him as Ian was.

“Of course you can.” Ian mumbled, pulling Mandy close and placing a kiss on the top of her head as the lift dinged and the doors opened. Svetlana rushed out, looking the least panicked out of all of them.

“Tell me what happened.” Straight to the point, as ever.

Mandy explained briefly, leaving Ian to stand there silently as he waited. “We're waiting around for a bit to see if we hear anything else but we can't see him until at least tomorrow.”

“Okay. I will not tell Yevgeny yet. Please, call me with update when you can. I need to go pick Yevgeny up from school. I wanted to check in before I do.” She moved close to Ian, pulling him into a tight hug that made him want to dissolve into a ball. Svetlana placed a kiss to his cheek, repeating the process with Mandy. “Look after each other.”

She was gone as fast as she'd come; Ian knew that Yevgeny was the top priority and there was nothing she could do for them except sit and wait. There was no point. Ian mumbled something about needing the toilet to Mandy and he walked in the opposite direction, finding the bathroom in no time.

When he got back to the group, Iggy had arrived. Iggy was the only brother of Mickey's that Ian had met – Mickey had said the others weren't worth meeting, that they'd never gotten out of the shit that their dad had got them into. Iggy had proved that he was changing and Mickey had even taken the chance to hire him. Iggy could be a bit nosy, weirdly curious about odd details – when Mickey had bought his new car, Iggy had wanted to know all about the 'specs' – but he was sweet in his own way, and Ian liked him. They'd moved the chairs in his absence so that they were all a little closer together and Ian sat down in between Mandy and Debbie.

“Ian.” Iggy said in greeting. People kept saying his name like Ian was the one who had been hurt, like he was the one that needed looking after. It irritated Ian but he swept it aside for now, greeting Iggy with a half smile, hoping it would be enough.

“Look at all of us; who would have thought Mickey Milkovich would have so many people that cared about him.” Mandy said harshly, biting back her own tears as she spoke. Ian reached over and took her hand in his own.

The hours passed slowly, each minute dripping away. Every time Ian looked at his watch, the hands had barely moved. It was painful sitting there, waiting without knowing. Every now and then someone would get up, stretch their legs and walk around the room. Nobody really spoke; they were all too nervous and what would they talk about, really? Every subject was too fake; they were all too obviously trying to take their minds off the situation. Lip stood up at around seven in the evening and stretched, looking at Ian carefully.

“I've gotta get back but Amanda sends her love, Ian. She's talking about making you some meals for the house or some shit.” Lip said, his voice tentatively joking around. It didn't sit right with Ian, though. He looked up at Lip and stared, his mind cast back to when Frank had died; their fridge had been full of meals from people. Fiona had been quick to point out that nobody had helped them when they'd been struggling and Frank had been alive. Somehow, when Frank died, people came out of the woodwork to support them. Ian's eyes hardened.

“He's not fucking dead, Lip.” Debbie immediately put her hand on Ian's back, holding it still. It was the anchor he needed but he couldn't feel it, not yet. “We don't need meals. This isn't a fucking Lifetime movie. He's going to be fucking fine.”

Lip held his hands up in surrender. It bothered Ian; this was not his sarcastic older brother who would normally jump at the chance at a comeback. He hated the seriousness of it. “I know, Ian. She just wants to help, okay?”

Ian nodded, relaxing slightly into Debbie's arm and letting his head fall back against the wall again. He heard Lip saying goodbye to the others, heard him call out a goodbye to Ian but Ian didn't want to reply. He waited until he heard Lip's footsteps recede before he opened his eyes and glanced around. “This is fucking depressing.”

Mandy snorted loudly. “Shall I do a dance to cheer everyone up?”

“God, no, you can't dance for shit.” Grace piped up, causing Debbie to laugh lightly from next to Ian. “Iggy, aren't you a good dancer?”

“If you like the chicken dance.” Iggy said flatly and they all laughed, Ian included. It was a brief moment of happiness and Ian basked in it for as long as he could before he came crashing back down again. He leaned forward and rested his head on his hands, his elbows on his knees. Mandy stood up restlessly and started pacing back and forth in front of them, her fingers in her mouth as she bit her nails. Ian squeezed his eyes shut and wished it all away.

 

5 years before//

It had been two months since Mickey had stood in Ian's office doorway and weirdly winked at him after asking for his number. In those two months, they'd had several dates and even a few sleepovers, as Mandy liked to call them when she teased him daily. Ian couldn't believe that Mandy had been so right about how well Ian would get on with Mickey. He didn't understand how they seemed to have clicked so fast – especially considering Mickey was not his usual type. Ian seemed to attract older men and for so long, he'd just put up with it. A grin and bear it attitude, Lip would say. But Mickey was in a league of his own. They bickered and fought like an old married couple, but Ian loved every second of it. It almost always lead to sex – which was always off the fucking charts amazing – and Ian had a sneaking suspicion that Mickey loved to wind Ian up. 

Ian was at work, day dreaming about Mickey as he tended to do, though he would never admit it to Mickey – or anyone for that matter. They were getting on so well, he was almost waiting for things to fall apart. His cellphone rung from his desk and he picked it up, seeing Mandy's number. “Hey, what's up?”

“I thought you should know – Mickey has had an accident at work and they're taking him to the emergency department. It's nothing serious but I'm heading down there if you want to come with me? He'll need someone to take him home.” Mandy sounded as if she was rushing, walking somewhere. Ian glanced at the clock on the wall of his office and did a quick mental check. He knew Mandy's schedule almost as well as his own.

“You're on your way from E block, right? I'll meet you out front and we can go in my car. See you soon.” Ian was out the door, muttering a quick explanation to Hitomi as he went. There was a small wave of panic rising in him but he forced it down; Mandy had said it was nothing serious.

And still, it rose. By the time he reached his car where Mandy was waiting, his palms were sweaty and his stomach was doing flips every minute or so. They drove in silence and when they finally pulled up outside the hospital, parking as close to the building as they could, Ian realised why he was feeling so weird about it. The last time he'd been here had been when he'd been a lot younger and had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder – he'd been admitted for a psychiatric evaluation and it had been possibly the worst 48 hours of his life. He hadn't been back since, not even when Frank's liver was finally giving out and he was dying. Ian shuddered at the memories the building held and walked with Mandy through the halls, finally finding the cubicle where Mickey was seated with a scowl on his face and his left arm resting on a pillow.

“The fuck are you two doing here?” Ian loved the warm greetings he would get from Mickey the most. Ian didn't miss the fact that there was a hint – a ghost – of a smile sent Ian's way. Mandy rolled her eyes as she stepped up and punched him in his apparently non-injured arm.

“What happened to you?” Ian asked, cautiously taking a step forward. He felt odd, out of place. They'd been seeing each other reasonably casually for a little over two months but suddenly Ian felt like he didn't belong there, as if he shouldn't care about Mickey being injured. Ian wasn't sure if they were even 'official' or a couple and it was not a conversation that he wanted to have. Mickey kept his blue eyes on Ian, though, and there was no hardness there as he spoke.

“Fucking tripped on some bullshit cord and fell forward – they think my wrist is broken. I'm waiting to get an x-ray; I'm next in line. The one time I'm actually allowed out on a fucking job and this is what happens!” Mickey fumed, swearing under his breath as his wrist moved slightly. It was heavily swollen and Ian winced in sympathy. “It fucking hurts like a bitch.”

Mandy sat down on the only other seat while Ian still hovered; Mandy smirked slightly at her brother. “I broke mine when I was – ten, wasn't it, Mick? I think ten. I didn't even cry.” She puffed her chest out proudly, ignoring Mickey as he flipped her off.

“Yeah, well, go fuck yourself.” Mickey shot back, his eyes raking over Ian before flicking back to his sister. Mandy looked between them and rolled her eyes for the second time.

“Jesus, I'll give you two love birds some space, shall I?” Mandy got up, ignoring the death glare Mickey was sending her as she disappeared back down the hall they'd come from. Ian took her seat awkwardly, not knowing where to look.

“Does it hurt?” Fuck. Dumb fucking question, Ian thought angrily. Mickey didn't seem to mind though – he sat up a little straighter and shrugged.

“Kinda. I guess it's okay.” Ian wanted to smirk at the bravery Mickey was suddenly putting on for Ian but he bit his tongue. “You didn't have to come, man.”

Ian felt his face flame; Mickey didn't want him there. He probably thought Ian was being a fucking idiot showing up – it was only a broken wrist, after all. Ian had left work and shown up like Mickey was in a fucking coma or had lost his memory. Ian could probably take that to mean they weren't really a couple, either. He should have fucking known. “Shit – yeah. I – I should go.”

“What?” It was a weird moment, Ian had to admit. Mickey clearly wanted to reach out and put his hand on Ian's arm – presumably to stop him from getting up and leaving – but the arm closest to him was the injured one. Mickey lifted it off the pillow before swearing loudly and letting it drop back down, causing another loud swear to escape his lips. Ian frowned, feeling worse than ever, when Mickey muttered something quiet. “Ian, I want you to be here.”

–

The pain in Mickey's arm felt like nothing when Ian's sympathetic face looked down on him. Mickey had felt a weird twinge in his chest when Ian had said he would leave – when Ian had turned the corner with Mandy, Mickey had felt relief that he hadn't been expecting. He'd text Mandy when it had happened and Ian had crossed his mind then, but at that point the ambulance – fucking ridiculous to call a fucking ambulance for a fucking sore wrist – had arrived and he'd had to put his phone away. Seeing Ian in the hospital made it all seem okay; he'd never broken a bone before, which was surprising in the Milkovich family. Mickey wanted Ian there, and he felt a strange feeling slowly coursing through him as he realised that he wanted Ian there all the time. He'd wanted him there when he'd woken up that morning; he wanted to share his day with him. Mickey wanted to introduce Ian as his. Fuck.

“Ian, I want you to be here.” Mickey would later decide to blame it on the pain but it was the most genuine moment he'd shared with anyone, and Ian clearly knew it. Mickey cleared his throat roughly and coughed loudly; there was a whisper of a smile on Ian's lips and it sent a rush through Mickey that he couldn't quite name. Not yet. Feelings that deep scared the shit out of him – for many a good reason – and he didn't want to address them. “Do you think Mandy will have any sense to get me a beer?”

Ian laughed now, long and loud as all the nervous energy in the small cubicle dissipated, and Mickey relished in the sound of it. “You can't drink beer in a hospital, Mickey.”

“The fuck?!”

“Surely you knew that?”

Deciding to change the subject, Mickey raised an eyebrow at Ian. “You wanna stay over tonight? Help look after me?”

Flirting was one thing Mickey had slowly gotten better at since being with Ian; the ginger haired fuck was so good at making Mickey's legs weak with just one sentence that Mickey had gotten into his self. He hoped that the look he was sending Ian now was one of seduction, and not barely concealed pain.

“Was I just invited to a sleepover?” Ian asked lightly, a playful smile on his lips. Mickey glared at him.

“Fuck you is what you were invited to.”


	4. You Got Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You got me drugged up, you got me undone, falling in love, like you do."

_Five Years Before//_

A dinner date was something completely new to Mickey. It was a totally new concept, something he'd never really thought about and ever since Mandy and Ian had proposed the idea, it was something Mickey wished he'd never fucking heard of. It was all Mandy could talk about – for all of her tough exterior, she could be a fucking soft-ass when she wanted to be. Everyday she would call him and ask him what he was going to wear; “You have to look good for Ian!” Well fuck, Ian had seen him first thing in the morning after a night of drinking with morning breath and a hangover just as foul and he had still wanted to kiss him, so why the fuck would Ian care what he looked like on some dinner date?

Ian had originally wanted to invite his work friend, Hitomi, but her husband apparently had a work event that she was meant to go to, too. Mickey was secretly glad; he hadn't met anyone yet – family or friends – and wasn't looking forward to it. FUCK-U-UP tattoos on his knuckles and his usual 'fuck you' demeanour didn't exactly scream marriage material. He was glad that it was now only going to be Mandy joining them, and the place they were going for dinner wasn't even fucking fancy, so he didn't need to fucking dress nice.

Mickey wouldn't deny, however, that there was a part of him that liked impressing Ian when he could. It didn't happen often – the only time Mickey really shone was at work and unfortunately there were no 'take your boyfriend to work' days coming up. Being able to use the word boyfriend had been his first step and now Mickey used it as much as he could without acting like an idiot. But impressing Ian didn't come easily, so he took his chances when he could. There was that night with the anal beads; Ian had been so skeptical but jesus, they'd gone all fucking night and Ian had grinned at Mickey like the sun shone out of his fucking ass by the end of it. Mickey had fucking loved it.

So now, here Mickey fucking stood on the night of this fucking dinner date, standing in front of his closet wondering what the fuck was considered 'nice'. Half of his wardrobe consisted of t-shirts with holes in them or ratty sweatshirts that he layered on in winter. Not really 'dinner date' material. Mickey rummaged through the various clothes hanging in his closet and passed by almost all of it, deeming it not good enough, before he finally found what he thought might be halfway acceptable. When his mom had died, he'd bought a suit. He didn't want to but Mandy had insisted that it was a nice thing to do and that all of his other brothers were going to. They fucking hadn't and Mickey had looked like the only one – apart from Mandy – who had actually given a shit. He'd kept the suit, never really wanted to throw it out despite the fact that he never wore it. He glanced at it again, biting his lip slightly as he thought it over. It felt like too much; the sentiment behind it and the fact that it was a damn suit.

Mickey pulled the pants off of the coat-hanger and shook them out, ignoring the fact that dust now littered the air around him. His eyes roamed over his shirts and he spotted a navy blue one that he hadn't really worn much. Combined, it wouldn't look fucking over the top and he'd still fit in. He certainly wouldn't wear the jacket of the suit – that would be way too much. Mickey looked at the suit again, running his fingers over the fabric. If anything, his mom would like the fact that he was using it to spend time with two people that were important to him. Fucking sentiment or some bullshit. He slammed the door to his closet shut with his free hand and threw the clothes onto the bed, heading for the shower. His head needed clearing.

While the hot water ran over his head and down his body, Mickey contemplated how far he'd come with Ian so far. They'd gotten on so unexpectedly, and in the beginning Mickey had been certain that he would be laughing with Mandy about how much of a failure it had been. It had been the complete opposite. Ian had slotted into his life so perfectly that it made Mickey wonder how they'd ever gotten through without each other. He snorted to himself as he picked up the shampoo bottle; he was also ten times soppier than usual and for the most part he fucking hated it, but there was also that small part of him that enjoyed it.

Ian consumed his thoughts almost all of the time and it scared the shit out of Mickey; he didn't want to become dependent on someone, he didn't want to be half of a whole. He'd always been fine on his own; growing up south side it was either kill or be killed, in a sense. Mickey had survived – which was saying something considering he was gay as fuck – and made it out alive with his sister. Nothing could scare him, aside from his dad who had fucked off a year ago. Mickey had always been on his own and had therefore learnt to survive on his own. To suddenly have a shift and feel himself beginning to rely on someone else for happiness was something that he found hard to accept. Let alone the fact that being happy was an entirely new feeling in itself.

Mickey's phone was ringing when he stepped out of the shower and after wrapping a towel around his waist and drying his hands on it, Mickey picked it up. He knew who it would fucking be.

“Mandy, I swear to fucking god. If you don't stop hassling me I'm going to turn up in a fucking potato sack.” Mickey barked out, rolling his eyes as he opened a random drawer in search of clean boxers.

“Wow, Mickey. If you're going to be a smart ass, you've gotta be smart first. Right now you're just an ass.” Mickey could practically hear Mandy smirking at her own stupid joke through the phone. He pulled out a clean pair of boxers and threw them on the bed, staying silent and waiting for his sister to continue. “I was just ringing to tell you that the place rung and changed our reservation – we're meeting at seven now, not half past.”

Mickey glanced at the clock next to his bed and sighed. He had twenty minutes before he had to leave the house.”Fucking great.”

“But what are you actually wearing?”

Mickey hung up instead of answering her question and tossed his phone onto the bed next to his clothes that were waiting to be worn. The suit lay there and Mickey couldn't help but feel something about wearing it. He wasn't fully aware of what that was or why he was feeling weird about it, but he hoped like fuck that Mandy wouldn't say anything about it. He didn't want Ian to think it was some big moment. Because it fucking wasn't.

Dressed and looking as decent as Mickey got, he left the house. He realised as he walked that Ian had never really seen him dressed nicely – they went out together, but usually to some dingy bar where they made eyes over a drink before fucking in the bathroom. It was all they were about at the moment and, Mickey thought with a twitch in his lower body, he was looking forward to seeing Ian's reaction. Mickey wasn't going to lie; he thought he looked half alright.

The restaurant they were meeting at was an okay place. It had a separate area purely for drinking that Mickey was sure they'd end up in later, along with the main dining area. Mickey hadn't been there before but Mandy had insisted that it was a nice place. Mickey was the first to arrive – of fucking course – and so stood outside awkwardly, waiting for someone to turn up. A couple passed him, the woman sneering down at his tattoos and Mickey put on his best glare as they stalked past. People in general were the main reason why Mickey had never been here before.

“Mick!”

Mickey turned his head and saw Ian jogging up towards him. He was instantly glad at his wardrobe choice; Ian was wearing similar clothes and Mickey licked his lips at the sight of him – he looked ready to fucking eat. Ian reached Mickey and let his eyes slowly cast down Mickey before coming back up to his face, a small smile on his lightly freckled face.

“Wow. Look at you, Milkovich.”

“Ay, fuck you, man.”

Ian held his hands up. “I'm just saying...I wouldn't kick you out of bed.” Their eyes met for a moment, a playful smirk on Ian's lips and Mickey fought to keep his mind off of what Ian was implying. Mandy would be here any second. Mickey ran a thumb over his bottom lip and glanced away.

“You're not too bad yourself.” Mickey spotted Mandy turning the corner behind Ian as he spoke and raised his head in greeting. Ian shook his head, the smirk still playing on his lips, as they waited for Mandy to reach them.

“What's up, losers?!” Mandy grinned, clearly pleased with herself as she punched Mickey in the arm. Sometimes he wished they weren't as close as they had become. He already felt like he saw her way more than was necessary. Her eyes roamed down and widened slightly when she realised what Mickey was wearing; as they met his own, he gave her a look that he hoped told her to shut the fuck up. She gestured to the building instead. “Shall we go in or stand out here like idiots?”

It turned out to not be as shit as Mickey had predicted; really, he wasn't sure why he'd been so worried. Mandy and Ian seemed to get on better than Mickey did with either of them, and the conversation flowed freely. There were no awkward moments and it didn't even feel like a 'dinner date' – more like a drink with friends. They were more than a few drinks into it by the time their food finally arrived and Mickey was fucking starving. He reached out to the bowl of fries they'd ordered to share and took a handful before Mandy slapped his hand.

“What the fuck?!” Mickey demanded, his eyebrows creased together as he glared at his sister. Ian smirked from across the table, helping himself to the fries.

“Save some for carrot boy, here.” Mandy replied and Ian paused, a fry halfway to his mouth.

“Did you seriously just call me 'carrot boy'?”

“I seriously did, carrot boy.” Mandy replied, lifting up the burger from her plate and taking a bite, ignoring the barbecue sauce that dripped slowly down her chin.

“Where the fuck do you get carrot boy from?” Ian questioned, staring at Mandy.

Mandy shrugged, her eyes dipping down to her plate as she wiped her chin roughly with her hand. “Svetlana said you look like a carrot.”

Mickey had been out with Ian the previous week when they'd ran into Svetlana in a bar. It had been awkward to say the least, mainly because Mickey hadn't told Ian the whole sordid story yet. Four or so months into seeing each other seemed too early to confess that he had a son, but judging by the look on Mandy's face, she clearly thought now was the perfect time. Mickey sent a quick glare her way and hoped that Ian wouldn't question any further. It had been hard enough passing Svetlana off as an old friend, especially when Svetlana had given him that fucking look, like 'what the fuck are you doing?'. Ian had an odd look on his own face now, as if he knew there was something more behind it – Mickey rushed to change the subject before Mandy could say any more.

“If he looks like a carrot then you look like a fucking pineapple.” Mickey interjected, ducking away from the punch Mandy threw his way.

“You're a fucking asshole!” She cried out, shaking her head, her nose ring glinting in the light of the restaurant. Ian laughed again; the moment was gone and Mickey could breathe again. “Wait, why the fuck am I offended? A pineapple? You're slipping, Milkovich.”

Ian snorted into his beer as he took a sip. “She's right, Mick.”

Mickey pulled a face and ignored the pair of them, lifting up a slice of his pizza and taking a bite. He smiled to himself at the use of his nickname – he was warming to the sound of Ian shortening it. Through a mouthful of pizza he mumbled, “I don't give a fuck. You both suck.”

Mandy swallowed the mouthful of food she had and shook her head at him. “Are you going to complain yet again that Ian and I pick on you?”

“No, but that doesn't mean you don't fucking do it.” Mickey said bitterly, shoving the crust of his slice of pizza in his mouth. Ian and Mandy had known each other longer, and therefore had some stupid connection that apparently entitled them to take the piss out of Mickey whenever they got the chance. Mickey was south side, and he was fucking tough, but it got annoying as shit.

\--

With one arm holding Mandy up, Ian struggled to walk alongside her as she stumbled in between him and Mickey. It was a mission and a half, and the walk to Mandy's house was doubled because of it. They'd stumbled out of the restaurant a little more than ten minutes before it was due to close and Mandy was definitely the worst off out of the three of them; Ian hadn't seen her this drunk in a long time. As they turned the corner of her street, her shitty apartment that she shared with three other girls coming into view, Mandy started mumbling something.

“What are you going on about?” Ian asked, attempting to keep his balance and avoid walking on the road. Mickey was doing the same, only he was attempting not to fall into the bushes they were currently walking past. Mandy stopped walking and turned to Ian, a sloppy smile on her face that almost seemed out of character if Ian didn't know any better; Mandy was always extra soppy when she was drunk.

“Don't let go of my brother dearest, here. He wore my mom's suit for you – is'special.” Even in the darkness, Ian could see Mickey's face deepen in colour and Ian decided to leave it for now. Mandy's eyes were slowly closing and Ian tightened his grip on her.

“Come on, you. Time to get home.”

By the time they'd found her key and taken her up to her bedroom, Ian was exhausted. They stepped back out into the night and began the walk back towards Mickey's house – it was closest. “Do you think she'll be okay?” Ian asked quietly as they walked together, occasionally bumping into each other. He'd thoroughly enjoyed himself over the course of the evening and didn't want to ruin it, but he desperately wanted to ask Mickey about the suit.

“She's a big girl; she'll be fine.” Mickey replied. His voice was quiet and reserved. Ian tried to gauge how drunk Mickey was – and how drunk he was himself – before answering. They'd both had plenty to drink and Ian could certainly feel the alcohol's affect on his body; he assumed Mickey was about the same.

“What did she mean...” He left it hanging; the look on Mickey's face told Ian he knew exactly what Ian was talking about.

Mickey gestured to the dark pants he was wearing, avoiding Ian's eyes. “This is half of the suit I bought for my mom's funeral. Mandy thinks it's some special shit that I wore it, I don't know.”

Ian had no idea how to respond. On one side, Mickey clearly didn't think it was a big deal, or at least that was what he was projecting. But on the other side, Ian felt like it was a fucking big deal. Mickey didn't talk about his mom, only to say that she'd died when he was younger, and Ian hadn't pushed it. They hadn't really delved into dark family histories, yet, and Ian felt like they needed to. They crossed the road, empty of any cars, and continued on. “Is it a big deal?”

Mickey was silent at first and Ian wished he'd never asked. But Mickey was constantly surprising him, in so many different ways. Ian was learning that he judged people too soon; Mickey cleared his throat roughly, a common trait when he was nervous. “Kind of. I haven't worn it since the funeral.”

Just when Ian thought he had Mickey figured out, he would reveal yet another layer and Ian would be left surprised. It was a quiet night; not many cars were passing and there were no other people on the street. Ian knew Mickey wasn't one for public displays of affection but he risked it anyway. Slowly, inch by inch as they walked, Ian moved his hand towards Mickey's. The latter wasn't stupid; Ian watched his face turn hard and his eyes stayed set forward, as if determined to not see what Ian was trying to do. Ian forged ahead – he grasped Mickey's hand and held it tight.

They didn't need to say any more, really. Ian squeezed Mickey's hand and hoped like fuck that it conveyed all he was feeling at that moment; that he was acknowledging the sentiment behind what Mickey was wearing, that he appreciated it. Mickey didn't pull away and Ian held back a smile – he was slowly working Mickey out. Slowly.

After a silent ten minute walk, they entered Mickey's house. It was a nice place, Ian had to admit. Neither of them were particularly well off but they'd somehow both managed to find nice enough places to live. Ian preferred Mickey's house – the very first time he'd been there, he'd walked in and just felt at home. It had been an odd feeling, and one he chosen not to share with Mickey considering it had only been a few weeks that they'd known each other, but every time Ian spent time at Mickey's house, he felt content. Plus, it was no way near as cramped as his own house. Now was no different; he helped himself to a beer from Mickey's fridge and brought one through to Mickey. They fell back on the couch with a sigh.

“I have a kid. A son”

Mickey spoke into the room as if it was empty and he'd just decided to randomly voice a thought. Ian slowly turned to look at him, his eyebrows knotted together as he tried to figure out the story behind the sudden revelation. He certainly hadn't been expecting that. Mickey wouldn't meet his eyes, instead he held his drink steadily in his hands as his head dropped back to lie on the top of the couch, his blue eyes glazing over as he stared at the ceiling. Ian put his own drink on the small table in front of them and turned slightly to face Mickey.

“What's his name?” Whatever Mickey had been expecting, it certainly hadn't been that. He shot up straight in his seat and gave Ian a surprised look. Ian fought to keep his face neutral – he wanted to know more but didn't want to push Mickey. 

“His name is Yevgeny. Yev. S'Russian.” Mickey mumbled in reply, hanging his head low as he put his own drink next to Ian's on the table.

Russian. Something clicked in Ian's head. “Svetlana. Svetlana's his mom, isn't she?” Mickey nodded. “How old is he?”

Ian watched with interest as Mickey lifted his head, a small half smile on his face; talking about his son made him happy, Ian could tell. “He's just turned three and he's the biggest trouble maker you could possibly imagine.” 

“Sounds like Liam.” Ian commented. He hesitated a second but Mickey seemed to know what question was coming next and spoke before Ian could say anything.

“His mom and I were kinda forced into a thing when I was younger. Yev was the silver lining.” It was such a simple statement but it hit Ian so hard he was silent for several moments. Their drinks were forgotten on the table, slowly reaching room temperature and becoming undrinkable. Ian had no idea how to respond. “It's a shitty story but my dad didn't like finding out that I was gay. He beat me and then ordered Svetlana to 'fuck the gay' out of me. Didn't work, though.” 

His voice was bitter now, and Ian was cautious to say anything. He knew that Mickey's dad was an asshole – he'd heard the odd story from Mandy – and he had no idea how to approach the topic. What Mickey had just told him had rocked him slightly – he never wanted to meet Mickey's dad. Ian wasn't sure he would be able to stop his self from knocking the old man out. “Do you wish that it had?” Ian was well aware it was a ridiculous question but the look on Mickey's face made Ian want to know the answer.

“Sometimes. I pretended that it did for a long time afterwards but it was useless.” Mickey paused, choosing his words carefully. Ian was scared to move or say anything that would break the spell – this was the most Mickey had ever spoken about his family life or sexuality. “I've only been properly comfortable with who I am the past year. Especially these past few months.”

Ian didn't miss the gravity of what he was saying. They stared at each other for a moment before settling back into the couch. Ian wasn't sure how to reply, and twisted his hands together.

Mickey sensed his hesitation to say any more. “S'okay, Ian. You can fucking talk, you know.”

“I'm sorry.” It sounded stupid, and Ian knew it. He screwed his face up and shook his head. “No, wait. I'm sorry you had to go through that, and I'm sorry if I pushed it out of you tonight.”

“Stop fuckin' apologisin'.” Mickey was sobering up, but his voice was low and his words were indistinct. “It happened and that's that. Just...don't be too mad.”

“What? Mad? Do I look mad to you?”

“No, but -”

“But nothing, you idiot. I'm not fucking mad.” Ian stated, leaning back against the couch further and waited as Mickey did the same. They stared at the blank TV, each lost in their own thoughts for a minute. “Why would I be mad?”

“I lied?” Mickey said hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure. “A lie of omission, or what the fuck ever.”

“You didn't fucking lie, Mickey. You wouldn't tell everyone you fuck that you have a son – I wouldn't want to tell someone unless I thought it was serious.” Ian's words sat heavily between them, the implication clear. Ian didn't dare look at Mickey – he was always cautious not to push too far, give too much and scare Mickey away. He liked him a lot and didn't want to risk losing it. He felt like he was right, though; Mickey must think something of him to tell him about Yevgeny. Mickey didn't reply. For a moment, Ian frowned to himself but before he could dwell on the moment, Mickey's hand fell onto the small patch of couch between them, his hand open and outstretched, waiting. Ian didn't look at him, but placed his own hand on top of Mickey's. It was enough for the moment, before Ian decided it was time for his own confession.

“Since we're telling our deepest darkest secrets,” Ian began, taking a breath. He felt Mickey stiffen slightly and closed his eyes. “I have bipolar disorder.”

When Ian opened his eyes, tentatively, Mickey was watching him. It was the same face full of concern that he'd seen on countless faces; he was a little sick of it, if he was honest. He hadn't planned on telling Mickey about it just yet, but after all of their serious talk, it slipped out easily. It was not something he liked to talk about much – people tended to treat him differently when he mentioned it, and Ian hated that. He expected it, now, and preferred to keep it to himself for the most part.

But if Ian was right in thinking that Mickey told him about Yevgeny because he felt like whatever they had was serious, Ian knew that he should do the same. He didn't wait for Mickey to ask the questions that everyone asked; he launched into his speech that he had prepared and rehearsed since he was 17.

“I was diagnosed when I was 17 after I dropped out of school and went kind of off the rails for a year. It was pretty shit; I tried to join the army and almost got put in prison.” Ian knew he was talking about like it was nothing, and it wasn't, but he wanted to get it all out as fast as he could. “I had to spend time in the psychiatric unit at the hospital and I was on some fucking shit meds for awhile. Then I turned 18 and somehow it kind of clicked; my meds started to work, Lip convinced me to get my diploma. I have bad days but my meds keep me pretty regular, now.”

“Fuck, Gallagher.” They were still slumped on the couch, side by side, hands linked. Ian's mind cast back to the time of his diagnosis, his initial denial and the shit he went through to get to the place he was now. It was part of who he was, and he wanted to make sure Mickey knew that. “That's how you got into counselling, then?”

Ian turned his head and stared. “What? You don't have any questions about it all? It doesn't bother you?”

“Nope.” Mickey shrugged, his blue eyes meeting Ian's. “Why the fuck would it bother me?”

It was Ian's turn to mumble and hang his head. He sighed softly before answering. “Because most people look at me like I'm crazy when I tell them, and I'm fucking not.”

“Of course you're not.” Mickey said simply, like it was the easiest fucking thing in the world. Ian stared at him again, lifting an eyebrow.

“That's it, then?”

“Ian, what the fuck do you want me to say? It doesn't change who you are to me. You can fill me in on how to help you when you have bad days, or if I should just leave you the fuck alone. Tell me how to figure out if you're having a bad day. Other than that, you're still the same person. I just know an extra detail now.”

Ian's own family had been less understanding than Mickey. Ian was floored, if he was honest with himself. Mickey, who grew up as south side as Ian did, accepted Ian's bipolar as if Ian had told him he preferred tea to coffee. Mickey, who Ian was figuring out bit by bit. Mickey, who Ian wanted nothing more than to just hold because accepting him so easily was all Ian ever could have asked for. Instead, Ian squeezed his hand extra tight.

They sat like that for a long time, their hands linked. Mickey shuffled slightly closer and Ian let his head rest down on Mickey's. Ian didn't realise he was drifting off until Mickey was prodding his arm softly and saying his name. He opened his eyes and realised with a start that there was a dim light coming through the window.

“What the fuck is the time?” Ian mumbled, his hands coming to his face as he rubbed his eyes. Sleep was slowly disappearing and Ian felt contagiousness returning to him. “Did we sleep here all night?”

“It's almost six. We were up until three. Hardly a good night's fucking sleep. You hungry?” Mickey asked at the same time Ian's stomach let out a loud growl. “I'll take that as a fuck yes.”

Ian rubbed his neck now, aware of the stiffness in it. Mickey got up, stretching his arms above his head as he did so. Ian watched as his shirt lifted, showing just that little bit of skin. Mickey caught him looking and raised an eyebrow. Ian assembled his face into what he hoped was an innocent looking expression. “What?”

“You checking me out, Gallagher?”

“You fucking wish.” Ian shot back, falling back onto the couch and letting his legs stretch out. He heard Mickey leave the room and into the kitchen; there were noises of pots and pans being brought out and Ian felt his stomach rumble again. “What are you cooking?”

“Wait and fucking see.”

Ian grinned, standing up and heading down the hall to the bathroom. When he was done, he walked back into the living room and was instantly hit with the smell of bacon. It set his stomach off again and he put a hand to it, groaning loudly for effect. “Cone the fuck on, Mickey!”

“Jesus, Ian. Get your impatient ass in here, then.” Ian wasted no time in heading into the kitchen, his mouth watering at the smell. There were two plates set out on the small table in Mickey's kitchen, two glasses of orange juice. Mickey was stood at the stove tending to the bacon and what Ian now could see were eggs. He took it in; Mickey standing there with his usual gruff expression as he cooked Ian breakfast. It hit him like a tonne of bricks that this was what he wanted. Maybe not forever – he wasn't about to jump into something like that just yet – but he wanted it for right now. Mickey cut into his thoughts. “Well, sit the fuck down.”

“Jeez, the service here is shit.” Ian was rewarded with a slap to the back of his head for his comment and he laughed loudly. “I'm fucking kidding, you asshole!”

Mickey came over carrying the pan of bacon. He put several pieces of Ian's plate and waved the spatula in his face. “You fucking watch it, or I'll cook you next.”

“You sound like some fucking mafia hit man or some shit.”

“Maybe I am. You don't know me.”

Ian snorted into his juice as he took a sip. “I know how you like it.”

“Yeah, and liking what I like don't make me a bitch.” Mickey shot back, his eyes giving Ian a warning look. The redhead only laughed again, accepting the fried eggs Mickey was now putting on his plate. “Now eat your fucking eggs.”

Ian grinned into his plate as Mickey sat opposite him, tucking into his own breakfast. They were silent for a moment as they both ate, the smell of bacon wafting around them. Ian took another sip of his juice before fixing Mickey with a stare. “I was going to say thanks for last night but then I remembered that we talked on the couch and fell asleep. Shouldn't you be jumping my bones right now?”

“The day is still young, Gallagher.”


	5. I'll Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ignore everybody else; we're alone now."

_The day of//_

Nothing had changed. Nothing. No nurses had come to see them, no doctors. Occasionally someone would walk through their little waiting room and, in unison, five heads would pop up and watch, desperate for news. It never came, though, and Ian was slowly losing patience. The more that time wore on, the more Ian worried; this was serious, more serious than he wanted to think about. Nobody had eaten; Iggy disappeared around nine and came back with a bag full of burgers and fries. Ian couldn't eat, though, and shook his head when Debbie tried to put one in his hands.

“You have to eat something, Ian.”

But he didn't, not really. Maybe if he got sick enough from not eating, they'd put him in the ward with Mickey. “I'm not hungry. I'll eat later.”

Debbie kept staring at him, concern filling her face but Ian ignored it. Mandy and Grace were leaning into each other; Mandy's head was on Grace's shoulder and they were holding hands. Ian always forgot that they had dated for a short time before he met Mandy; clearly they were still close but the sight of it only made Ian miss Mickey more. Debbie knew him well, though - she pulled his hand into her own and squeezed them, sending him a warm smile. Debbie had always been caring and intuitive, even as a child. Ian remembered listening to her comforting Liam when he was only a baby, and Ian knew even then that she would eventually work in some form of care-giving when she was older.

The smell of the burgers was making Ian feel sick. He felt like he needed fresh air or he might actually throw up – he stood up abruptly and walked towards the closest window, opening it carefully. It only opened a crack but it was enough. He breathed in deep. The cool night air was sharp on his face but he welcomed it. It did nothing to clear his thoughts but, somehow, it calmed him slightly. They were only three floors up but even so, the cars on the roads below looked animated to Ian. He watched one speeding towards the hospital, flashing its lights and blaring the horn as it pulled up. A team of doctors and nurses came running out to meet the car; Ian closed his eyes. In his mind, it was someone giving birth. He was sick of thinking of everything negative associated with the hospital.

“Ian!” He could tell from the way Iggy said his name that something was different; there was an urgency to it. When Ian turned around, Dr Castillo and another unknown doctor were walking towards them all – had something happened to Mickey? As Ian moved over to join the others, he glanced at his phone – ignoring the texts from Hitomi and Fiona – and saw that it was almost half past ten. How had time flown and dragged at the same time? Everyone was on their feet – the two doctors stood in front of their group. Dr Castillo had a small smile on her face but Ian instantly disliked the new doctor; his face was hard, set in stone and his eyes almost look bored.

“Hey, guys. He's doing okay.” Dr Castillo begun, immediately putting everyone at east momentarily. They'd no doubt been worrying the same as Ian. “Why don't you all take a seat?”

There was a sense of dread slowly settling in on Ian, heavier than any worry or panic he'd felt so far that day. He had no idea what to expect or what to think – a type of numbness was descending on him. He sat down with a thump, seeing but not really seeing the others do the same. The doctors stayed standing and Ian looked up at them with wide eyes.

“This is Dr Gray. He is our neurologist and will be working with Mickey once we get a clearer picture of how his brain is doing.” Dr Castillo explained, her eyes reaching each of them in turn. Dr Gray didn't acknowledge any of them, but merely looked at the ground and waited for Dr Castillo to keep talking. “I just want to also reiterate that there will be no chance of seeing Mickey tonight. I understand that you're here for support, but I suggest going home and getting some sleep – you'll be no use to him tomorrow if you've been up all night.”

“So we can definitely see him tomorrow?” Iggy asked. Ian's flicked his gaze over to him, hating the way his raised eyebrows reminded Ian so strongly of Mickey. Ian shook his head; it was pointless to worry about what may or may not happen. He turned towards Dr Castillo to hear her answer.

“I cannot say with certainty that you will get to see him tomorrow; we'll know more once we see the results of his scans and have a few more consultations with him.” She turned to the older doctor standing next to her. “Dr Gray, would you like to add anything?”

The doctor's dark blue eyes almost looked as gray as his name as he lifted them slowly. Ian wanted to shake his shoulders – he looked so bored with them all. After a deep sigh, he ran an old wrinkled hand through his clipped dark brown hair. There were flecks of gray in it – with a small smirk to himself, Ian imagined the doctor living in a small gray box, completely surrounded by the dull colour. “It is early days. I've been in this job a long time and to make any sort of assumption this early is unwise. We will not know more until tomorrow and you will all have to wait until then.”

Mandy's eyes were darkening as she fixed them on the old doctor. “So, what? We can't have hope? You don't know – we might get to see him tomorrow!”

“That's not what I'm saying.” Dr Gray responded coldly, matching Mandy's glare. His eyes roamed down her nursing uniform and a scowl formed on his face. “By all means, hope away. But please understand that the complications and workings of the brain are very...” Another flick to her uniform. “Advanced.”

His implication was clear. The only thing that stopped Mandy from stepping forward and decking the doctor was Debbie's steady hand on her arm, no doubt keeping her grounded. Instead of replying, Mandy flipped the doctor off and stood up, stalking off in the direction of the toilets. Debbie got up and followed her. Dr Castillo gave her colleague a stern look.

“Dr Gray, I think that's all we need from you this evening.” It was that comment that made Ian realise that she was Dr Gray's superior, despite the age difference. Dr Gray didn't say anything – he turned on his heel and disappeared down towards the rooms. Dr Castillo turned towards them with an apologetic look. “Please excuse my colleague. He has no bedside manner at all. Please – would you pass on my apologies to your friend?”

Ian nodded firmly as Grace spoke for the first time since the doctor's arrival. “We understand that you can't make any firm comments, but what are the chances of us seeing him tomorrow?”

Dr Castillo looked away from them, biting her lip. She turned back and looked at Grace. “How about I say there's a fifty percent chance you may be able to see him? Please, don't get your hopes up. We'll know so much more in the morning.”

“Thank you.” Ian said, giving the doctor the best smile he could manage. He sat back further in his seat now, slumping slightly as a wave of tiredness hit him like a ton of bricks. Maybe they were right to go home tonight.

“Don't hesitate to contact me if you need anything, otherwise I'll see you all tomorrow.” She smiled warmly at them before turning and heading in the same direction that Dr Gray had gone. Ian closed his eyes, wishing he was at home in bed, with Mickey by his side.

“What time will you come back in tomorrow morning, Ian?” Iggy was asking. Ian opened his eyes and gazed over. “I was thinking I could help out with work?”

Iggy was nervous, it was blatantly obvious. Ian knew Mickey had only recently began trusting Iggy enough to help out with Mickey's contracting business. Even so, Ian had no idea what to do and Iggy had experience. “I think that'd be a great idea. I don't know how long it'll be before he's back to work, but if you could take over with Grace for now -”

“I'd love to!” Iggy answered quickly, a small smile on his face. Ian nodded, glad that one obstacle was out of the way. Mandy and Debbie rounded the corner, coming to stand in front of Ian, Iggy and Grace.

“That asshole gone?” Mandy bit out, the anger still clear in her voice.

“He's gone. And we need to get outta here, too.” Iggy answered. In unison, Ian stood with Iggy and Grace. “Ian, don't worry at all about anything to do with Mickey's work, okay? Grace and I will sort it.”

“Thanks, Iggy.” Ian mumbled. Grace and Iggy shared a friendly smile and Ian felt relief that he wouldn't need to worry about that for now. Mandy slipped her hand into his as they began to walk towards the lifts.

“You gonna be okay tonight, Ian?” Debbie asked, her face full of concern as she walked on the other side of him.

“I just wanna go home and crash and then come back tomorrow.”

“I will probably have to work tomorrow but let me know how Mickey is doing and I'll come over after work.” Ian was grateful for his sister. She'd been there for him more than anyone had when he'd been diagnosed with bipolar and he'd always appreciated it. Ian also knew that she was close to Mickey; she would quite often bring the kids she worked with to the different work sites Mickey was working on. The kids got a day out to see builders in action – a lot more exciting for them than for Debbie – and in turn, Debbie got to hang out with Mickey. Ian sent her a smile and hoped that it conveyed all he was feeling. They stepped into the lift and Grace pushed the button for the ground floor.

Standing in a circle together in the entrance, nobody quite knew what to say. Ian still held Mandy's hand, determined not to let it go until he had to. Grace hitched a weird smile to her face and looked around at them all.

“Well, I think it's safe to say we'll see each other tomorrow.” There was an awkward laugh from Iggy and Debbie, and together they exited the hospital. After saying a quick goodbye, Iggy disappeared down towards the main road where he'd parked his car. Mandy stood with Ian as he said goodbye to Debbie.

“Text me tomorrow. And text Fiona – she's worried about you.” Debbie called over her shoulder as she walked away. Grace and Mandy waved goodbye.

“I'll help Iggy out with work tomorrow morning, put a few things on hold but text me when you're here; I'll get over here when I can.” Grace said, folding her arms across her chest.

“Thanks, Grace.” Ian said genuinely. He embraced her briefly and waited as she did the same with Mandy. “See you tomorrow.”

The numbness he'd felt earlier was stronger now. It felt like he jumped from the hospital to home; the drive, the traffic – all of it a blur. By the time he really thought about where he was, he was walking in his front door and listening to Mandy's car pull up outside. She'd followed him home and he was already glad for the company; looking around the house he shared with Mickey felt weird. At this time of night, Mickey would normally be on the couch with Ian curled up next to him, watching shit on TV or talking. Maybe they'd be in bed, messing around or just being together. Even with Mandy coming in the front door behind him, he still felt alone.

Mandy seemed to be having similar thoughts; she stood next to Ian, staring around at the empty room. “It's weird, without him. I've been here without him before, but this is different you know?”

Ian shrugged his shoulders and stepped into the room, breaking the stillness. “You want a beer?”

“Oh, fuck yes.”

And so they found themselves on the couch with a beer in hand and the TV blaring in front of them. Ian had turned it on for noise and they'd ended up watching three consecutive episodes of a sitcom. The station was running a marathon and they'd zoned out, laughing when necessary and staying silent at all other times. It was well after midnight when it switched to commercials. At this point, they were several beers in and Ian could feel his body wanting to crash.

“I need sleep.” Mandy mumbled out and Ian nodded slowly, his body taking longer to react to what he wanted it to do. They both stumbled up from the couch, leaving the multiple empty beer cans on the table in front of them. Together, they walked down the hallway and into the bedroom Ian shared with Mickey. Ian stood in the doorway, Mandy just behind him. It seemed the events of the day were finally catching up to him; a weight dropped inside of him and tears formed in his eyes. Mandy prodded his back softly towards the bed and he sat on it with a soft thump.

“I can sleep on the couch if you want...” Mandy left her statement hanging, not really a question. Ian shook his head as the first tear rolled down his cheek. He wiped it away furiously and climbed on to the bed properly, kicking off his shoes as he did so.

“Stay in here with me.” His words were quiet, though Ian wondered if that was because it was so late that there were no other sounds coming from the street outside. Mandy nodded quickly and disappeared towards the bathroom.

Ian heard the door close and pulled the blankets back; he would sleep on Mickey's side. He quickly pulled off his jeans and threw his shirt onto the floor. Ian put his head to the pillow and inhaled; there was a hint of mint - Mickey's shampoo – and then just...him. Mickey. The smell Ian knew so well. It caused more tears to form but he ignored them, pulling the blankets over him despite the warmth of the evening. The toilet flushed and the door to the bathroom opened; Ian wiped the tears off of his face and lay flat on his back, waiting for Mandy.

“I don't have anything to wear in bed, so I'm going to wear one of your t-shirts, okay?” She announced as she walked into the room. Ian pointed her in the direction of his drawers. She rooted around before pulling out a shirt. Ian waited as she took off her uniform shirt, tossing it aside. “I'll head home tomorrow morning and change before we go back to the hospital.”

“Do you have to work tomorrow?”

Mandy finished pulling the plain gray shirt over her head and pulled her work pants off. The shirt was baggy on her small frame and only served to make her skin look even paler than it usually was. “I'm supposed to but I've already asked a friend to cover my shift. I'll call my boss in the morning, though, and let her know what the fuck is going on.”

The weirdness of the situation was not lost on either of them; Ian felt odd enough sleeping on the other side of the bed. Seeing Mandy climb in wearing his shirt was even stranger – she stretched her legs out and adjusted her pillow, pulling the blankets over her head. Ian shook his head roughly. “Why is this weird? You've slept in the same bed as me before.”

“Not so much sober, though. Remember that time you decided it was a good idea to get me fucking drunk because I'd had a bad day? And I threw up in your bed?” Her voice was muffled from under the blankets but he heard her clearly. “It was before you met Mick, though.”

“Jesus, Mandy! Out of all of our memories that you could have chosen, you decided to bring up the time you chucked your fucking guts in my bed?” Ian asked incredulously. Mandy began to laugh, a snort coming from under the covers. It grew infectious, and Ian barked out a laugh.

“Fuck off – you've done it before!”

“Yeah, and thank fuck I didn't know Mickey then. God knows what he would have thought of me.” Ian reminded himself of the current situation in one simple sentence. Mandy slid her hand through the bed towards him and they linked them together. She poked her head out.

“He would have loved you even then.”

Ian groaned loudly. He let go of her hand, settling further into the bed and using his other hand to switch off the lamp next to his bed, sending the room into darkness. “Come the fuck on, Mandy. Don't get soft on me.”

“I'm not, you asshole.” Mandy's voice almost echoed in the dark room. Ian could feel her shifting in the bed slightly and when she spoke again, he realised she was lying on her side facing him. “Maybe I am a little bit. Want to know a secret?”

“Only if we can paint each other's nails after this!” Ian replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm. Mandy aimed a kick at his shin.

“You sound just like Mickey, you prick. Do you want to know or not?”

“Yes, jesus!”

“You two are kind of like my role models. In a weird way.” Ian could tell from the way that she spoke that she was embarrassed about admitting such a statement. It wasn't something she would admit fully sober or with the lights on. Ian had known her longer than he'd known Mickey, by a few months – he knew she liked to appear tough but sometimes, only sometimes, you could catch her with her guard down. So Ian didn't reply; he waited for her to elaborate. “I haven't really had anything serious for awhile – not really since Grace and I had that thing – and it's nice seeing you two so stable.”

Ian smiled to himself in the darkness. He wondered what Mickey would think when Ian told him and with a pang he realised he wasn't sure when he'd be able to talk to him next. Ian pushed it aside roughly and focused on Mandy. “You have yourself to thank, you know. You were so insistent on setting us up.”

“Only because I knew that two fuckwits as big as you two would get along.” The moment was over but Ian would remember it; a stable relationship that someone else looked up to never used to be on the cards for him. Mickey had turned that around. “Seriously, though. You're both fucking idiots.”

“Are you seriously in my bed right now, insulting me?”

“As if you'd do anything about it, anyway.” Mandy shot back. “Remember that time I was really mad at you? I kicked you in the fucking balls and you did nothing back!”

“Yeah, because I was on the fucking ground trying not to die!” Ian was grinning as he spoke, though; he couldn't even remember what he'd done to upset Mandy but that was his first taste of the Milkovich temper and he'd done well to avoid it after that.

“I don't know how Mickey has stayed with you so long, Ian. Honestly – you're such a fucking pussy sometimes!”

It was Ian's turn to kick out and he felt his foot connect with Mandy's knee. She was laughing, though, and he grinned again. “Why are we friends again?”

Mandy sighed before she answered, and Ian felt her stretching out to lie on her back once more. “Who knows, carrot boy.”

“Shit – I need to text Svetlana.” Ian grasped at the side table until his hands found his phone. The screen was bright in the dark room and he squinted, seeing that he had two missed calls from Fiona and a text from Svetlana.

_Give me an update. Yev still doesn't know. I will tell him tomorrow, depending on your update._

Ian sent a quick reply with brief details of what the doctors had told them. A glance at the time told him it was way too late to call – he sent Fiona a text, too.

_I'm okay. Mickey is still in the hospital and we may not be able to see him tomorrow. I'll ring you in the morning._

He realised that he'd never text Hitomi back, either. Ian had worked with her ever since he'd begun his job at the community college and they were close; she often came over for dinner with her husband Malik. Ian wondered what would happen with his own job – Hitomi was pregnant and due to go on maternity leave in a few weeks. Ian didn't want to think about what might happen if Mickey needed to be looked after or had to stay in the hospital for a long period of time. He sent Hitomi a quick text and locked his phone, sitting it back down on the bedside table.

“Do you think we'll get to see him tomorrow?” Ian asked quietly and for the second time since they'd gotten into bed, Mandy took his hand in her own. He appreciated the gesture and focused on the warmth that came from it.

“I don't know. The doctors didn't seem so sure.” Mandy began, letting out another sigh. “That second doctor was a fucking asshole, though.”

“I know. You'd think he'd have better people skills.”

“The way he looked at me – like dirt on his fucking shoe just because I'm a nurse.” Mandy always talked about her job with pride. It had taken her a long time to finally complete her study and become a registered nurse, but she'd been so happy to finally do it. Mickey and Ian had thrown her a surprise party. “It's like being a Milkovich on the south side all over again – looked at like you're shit. He couldn't do his job without people like me.”

“At least Dr Castillo was nice.” Ian thought back to how kind the doctor's eyes had been and felt a small glimmer of hope, though he wasn't sure why. “I hope we can see him tomorrow.”

“Me too, Ian.”

They were silent for a few minutes. Ian could hear Mandy's breathing slowing down, deepening. He could feel his own body beginning to relax more and he knew that sleep was on it's way. He turned on his side, somehow still managing to hold onto Mandy's hand, and faced her as she began to speak.

“Thanks for letting me stay over tonight.”

“Thanks for staying over – I don't think I could have handled the house being so empty.” Even the bed, Ian thought, would have felt weird without Mickey. In the back of his mind, Ian remembered a time that they'd fought and Mickey had stormed off, muttering something about staying with Grace. Ian hadn't slept in the bed - he slept on the couch and woke up in the early hours of the morning, as the sun was only beginning to rise, to find Mickey sitting on the floor next to the couch. He'd had two coffees in his hands and his head had lolled back against the couch as he dozed off. This was before they'd even moved in together, but Ian hadn't wanted to sleep in the bed on his own when Mickey was supposed to be there.

“We should get some sleep.” Mandy whispered, her voice coming out slow. Ian squeezed her hand one more time and pulled it away, shoving it up under his pillow. They mumbled goodnight to each other and within minutes, Mandy was breathing deeply, a light snore filling the room.

Ian didn't find it as easy to sleep, though. Despite how tired he felt, he felt restless, irritable. The blankets were making him itch, it was too hot then too cold; he couldn't relax. After ten minutes of tossing and turning, Ian quietly climbed out of bed and took his phone into the lounge.

He'd unlocked it and brought up Mickey's photo before he'd even realised what he was doing. A tap on the message icon and it brought up the thread of their messages leading up to today. Ian scrolled through them, grinning at the odd 'fuck you' text from Mickey. He noticed that he received a text like that at least once a day – when Ian pictured Mickey as an old man, he was always the stereotypical grumpy old man, swearing from his front porch at kids on the street. Slowly, without really thinking, Ian typed out a message.

 

 

Ian's body was already relaxing more as he hit send. Texting Mickey had done the trick – he traipsed down the hall and into the bedroom. The bed was warm and welcoming, no longer itchy. Mandy was still fast asleep, her snoring dulled as her head buried into the pillow. Ian put his phone back on the bedside table and pulled the blankets up to his chin. He could feel tears threatening but he swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He needed to sleep. The sooner he slept, the sooner he might be able to see Mickey, and that was all he could think about.


	6. Rosa Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But you know you're my world."

Four Years Before//

Mickey was nervous. There was no denying that. From the moment he'd woken up, his palms had been clammy, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest. The night before, Mickey had to almost beg Ian to stay the night – Ian had complained about needing to be at work early, and although Mickey knew that that wasn't going to happen, he'd had to play along like it was. Eventually, like always, it was the promise of sex that had convinced Ian to stay over. Now it was minutes before Ian's alarm was due to go off and Mickey was desperately texting Hitomi, Ian's colleague, to make sure everything had worked.

_Okay Mickey, he thinks he's coming in early for a meeting but I'll send him a text now saying it's been cancelled._

_He needs the day off, though. Did you speak to his boss?_

_I did. She's signed off for him to be off for the day and he can just sign it tomorrow when he's back. Does he have any idea what you're doing?_

_None. Thank you for all your help._

_No problem, Mickey. Have fun!_

Mickey put his phone next to the bed, twisting his hands together as he waited for Ian to wake up. He'd gotten the day off himself – that part had been easy. Gary had been slowly growing annoyed at Mickey. He was constantly asking Gary for more responsibility and to learn more – part of Mickey knew that Gary only kept him around because he was Terry's son. It made the job tough and it was hard to look forward to going to work when Mickey knew that no one really wanted him there but he was determined to learn all that he could. When he'd approached Gary about the day off, he'd been more than willing.

“How long have you been awake?” Ian's voice was sleepy, still slightly buried under the blankets. Mickey took a breath and turned on his side to face Ian, hoping that he wasn't giving anything away in his facial expression.

“Not long. What time do you have to leave for work?” Mickey knew the question would work – Ian reached one arm out to pick up his phone from the bedside table and pulled it under the covers where he could read it.

“Oh – the meeting has been cancelled. I'll just go in at nine like I usually do.” Ian shifted up the bed slightly and poked his head out of the blankets, sending Mickey a sleepy smile that caused Mickey's insides to twist into knots. “Hey, you know what today is?”

Mickey bit his lip, mentally preparing himself. “Nope.”

Ian didn't look hurt, thank fuck. He just smiled wider. “We've been together for a year.”

There were words that Mickey wanted to say. He'd wanted to say them for a long time – at least a few months. He'd always chickened out and regretted it later. He also made the mistake of telling Mandy; she'd punched him hard in the stomach and yelled at him for more than ten minutes. Mickey hadn't talked to her about since but he thought about saying them everyday. There were moments when Ian would simply take his breath away – these moments usually came in bed, but sometimes Ian would just look at him like there was no one else in the world and Mickey had to bite his tongue. In the last month, it had been the hardest. Mickey was sure Ian wanted to say the same words to him – after a year together, it was more than normal. Mickey knew he wanted it to be special, though, and so he'd held off until today. Their one year anniversary.

Instead of saying anything, though – not yet, not now – Mickey leaned over to Ian and kissed him, long and hard. He remembered the first time they'd spent the night together, the worry the next morning about morning breath and snoring. They were like two halves, now. They fit so well together that it sometimes unnerved Mickey. Ian's hand snaked it's way to Mickey's back, pulling them closer together and as much as Mickey wanted to continue, he knew they had a long drive ahead of them. It was probably time to tell Ian.

“You're not going to work today.”

Ian's face was full of confusion. “What? Why?”

“You've got the day off.” Mickey replied, quietly enjoying the bewilderment on Ian's face. “So, get dressed. We have a big day ahead of us.”

Ignoring Ian's sputtering, Mickey climbed out of bed and headed into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly. With the shower turned on, Mickey sat down on the closed toilet seat and put his head in his hands. He had no idea when he was going to say it, but he knew he wanted it to be special. At the end of the day, Mickey had planned to cook dinner for Ian and he'd contemplated saying it then. He just had to keep it in all day. Easy enough.

Ian was pestering him with questions before he was even out of the fucking shower. Shampoo thick in his hair and his eyes squeezed closed, Mickey heard the bathroom door open. As he rinsed the soap from his hair, his eyes still shut, the curtain to the shower was wrenched open and Mickey could imagine Ian's fucking face without having to see it.

“Mickey, what the fuck is going on? Hitomi just rung me and told me not to come to work.”

The shampoo was gone but Mickey kept his eyes glued shut. If he saw Ian, he might jumble his thoughts everywhere, and it wouldn't be a pretty sight. “Did she? Huh.”

“What is going on?” Ian asked again. Mickey peered out of one eye and saw Ian, still in his boxers, one hand on his hip like the queen of fucking sass. Mickey wanted to say it then, over and over again, but he shook his wet head and went for indignation instead.

“Dude, I'm in the fucking shower! Can you get the fuck out of here?!” It worked like a charm. Even over the hiss of the water, Mickey could hear Ian huffing and puffing around the bathroom. Mickey allowed himself a small smile – just the next eight or so hours to go before dinner, he thought bitterly.

It was a weird morning, to say the least. Mickey avoided talking as much as he could – which wasn't fucking easy seeing as Ian was suddenly under the impression that Mickey was the human fucking version of Google. Every sentence was punctuated with a question and Mickey felt like an idiot not answering anything. They'd just finished bowls of cereal when Mickey lost it.

“I just want to understand. If you somehow got me the day off, can't you tell me why? Where are we -”

“Ian! Jesus! Has anyone fucking ever surprised you with anything? A million fucking questions a minute – where is your sense of fucking wonderment?!”

“That's not what wonder-”

“I don't care what it means! You know what I fucking meant. Now, we are going to get into my car and I am going to drive. I will not allow any more questions about today. Do you fucking understand?” Mickey seethed, watching as Ian nodded slowly. They were both silent for a moment before Ian seemed to deflate slightly.

“The answer is no, by the way. No one has ever surprised me with anything.” Mickey eyed Ian up, certain that this was a trick to get Mickey to reveal more. When neither said anything, Mickey sighed roughly and pulled Ian close. They didn't hug often – after fucking, a kiss was as intimate as they got and Mickey had struggled to get that far. The embrace didn't last long; Ian pulled back with a smirk on his face. “You're too easy Milkovich. Spill. What's going on today?”

Mickey didn't reply, but he shoved Ian hard in the other direction and ignored him as he searched for his shoes. Ian was laughing behind him and Mickey was pleased that the mood felt lighter. It was going to be a long fucking day.

Thankfully, Ian decided to shut the fuck up with his questions. Mickey drove for the first half hour in silence. He could almost sense Ian itching to ask something, anything about where they were going but he ignored it, turned the music up and drove. It was nine in the morning so traffic was insane and normally Mickey had awful road rage but somehow, he kept it all in. When a hatchback swerved in front of him, Mickey only muttered a curse under his breath. He saw Ian eyeing him up from the passenger seat.

“You're awfully well mannered today.”

“Mmmm.” Mickey kept his eyes locked on the road, taking an exit and merging onto another road, this one less busy. “Just trying to drive here, man.”

“You're also not one to keep a secret very well.” Ian started, his voice sly. “How long have you been planning whatever you're planning?”

“Gallagher, I -”

“Come on, Mickey! I'm not asking where we're going or what we're doing, but I just wanna know how long you've been organising this. Please?” Ian was beaming widely at him, his hands pressed together as if in prayer. Mickey rolled his eyes and relented.

“A month.”

“A month? Jesus. How much planning went into it?” Ian probed even further, excitement across his face now that he was finally getting answers.

“Not much, I just came up with the idea a month ago.”

Ian was silent, no doubt thinking up his next question. Mickey glanced at the clock on his dashboard and saw that they were about half an hour away. “Is it food related?”

Mickey shrugged, determined to keep it a surprise until the last moment. “I guess. Yes and no.”

“You're not going to give anything away, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Asshole.”

“You're a fucking dick. I set up this elaborate day for you -”

“-that I know nothing about!”

“And all you can do is insult me. I oughta turn this car the fuck around. How about we go back to shutting the fuck up?”

Ian folded his arms, grumpy in his seat and Mickey smirked to himself. Even now, even when Mickey was restraining himself from smacking Ian across the back of his head, Mickey wanted to blurt out what he'd been holding in for so long. He had no idea when the 'moment' would present itself, or what that even fucking meant – waiting for the right moment – but he didn't think it was driving in the car with Ian folding his arms like a bratty little kid.

When they were only ten minutes away – and Mickey had started seeing signs advertising where they were going – Mickey gripped the wheel tighter and actually began to feel excited. He hadn't been anywhere like this before – it wasn't like his childhood was brimming with fun family outings. He kept it in, though; he'd held onto this secret for so long now, he needed to keep it in a little longer so that he could see the look of surprise on Ian's face. The next turn off Mickey took was exclusively for where they were going, and he waited with baited breath as Ian sat up a little straighter in his seat.

“Mickey...” It was no longer a secret where they were heading; roller coasters were popping up in the distance and if Ian didn't spot them, he surely spotted the giant Six Flags sign they were heading towards. “Is this a joke? Are we actually going to a theme park right now?”

Mickey only nodded, biting his lip as he waited for the reaction. And it was fucking worth it. The smile that broke out across Ian's face lit up the entire fucking car and Mickey almost swerved off of the road staring at it. Ian laughed loudly, shaking his head as if he didn't quite believe it. Mickey shrugged lightly. “It'd be a pretty shit fucking joke.”

Ian laughed again, wiping his hands over his face and turning to Mickey. “You seriously arranged for me to have a day off so we could go to a theme park?”

Keeping his eyes on the road ahead, although by this point traffic had slowed, Mickey nodded. “It wasn't fucking easy with you asking so many fucking questions.”

As Mickey veered off towards parking lot G – it briefly crossed his mind as to how big this entire fucking parking lot was if they were in fucking G – Ian reached across and put his hand on Mickey's leg. Far from sending filthy thoughts through Mickey's mind, it caused his heart to skip a beat or two and he felt those same words threatening to break free again. Ian was smiling. “Thank you.”

A rough shrug. “No big deal.”

“Okay, but you know it totally fucking is, Mick, and I just want you to know that I appreciate it.” Ian's voice was soft and Mickey wanted to melt into it but he couldn't fucking do it now, not in a car while he was trying to find a parking spot. It had to be fucking special. So he grunted and shrugged again and tried to pretend that he missed Ian's slightly disappointed look.

They found a park and Mickey was quick to jump out of the car when it he'd turned it off; he didn't want any lingering conversations in the parking lot. This was hardly the fucking spot for confessions of love. It was a weekday, and yet there were still cars full of families, and – worst of all – children. They were everywhere and Mickey clenched his teeth. He was going to put up with this for Ian. Together they walked in the general direction of the park, following the growing masses of people. Mickey scowled at a family nearby; the kids were arguing loudly about what ride they would go on first and the parents, to Mickey's annoyance, were both on their phones as the shouts from their children grew in volume. Without even thinking about it, Mickey took hold of Ian's hand and increased their pace, pushing past the family and moving out of ear shot.

“Fucking hate kids.”

Ian snorted loudly. “I'll be sure to let Yev know.”

“You will fucking not and you know what the fuck I mean, man.” A woman nearby shot him a dirty look, one hand protectively on her son's head. Mickey resisted the urge to flip her off and instead settled for a dark glare. “You should be fucking grateful we're here.”

“I've never been to a theme park before.”

“Me neither. Fucking south side kids, ay?” Ian nodded, holding Mickey's hand a little tighter. “Did you have any idea?”

“No fucking clue. I still can't believe you did this for me.” Ian replied, sending another heart-stopping smile Mickey's. This fucking joker – Mickey wanted to punch the stupid smile off of his stupid fucking face. He grunted to himself – apparently his new favourite thing – and avoided Ian's eye. Again. 

The mob of people slowly moving towards the entrance narrowed into one long queue and, after five minutes of slowly shuffling forward, opened out into six lanes spread out across the entire entrance gates to the park. While Mickey pulled his wallet out of pocket, Ian tipped his head back and took in the giant sign in front of them, announcing where they were. Mickey eyed Ian out of the corner of his eye, secretly loving the look on his face.

“Go and get us a map from that stand.”

“Next!” Mickey stepped up to the windows, giving the attendant his booking details and ensuring Ian was out of ear shot. “So, you've paid for two Gold Speed passes along with a photograph package for two?”

“Yeah, that's right.”

The attendant clicked on the keyboard in front of her, her eyebrows furrowing together. Ian was on his way back, map in hand and eagerness filling his face. “Great. Here are your passes. If you make sure the attendant scans the photo pass, it'll send your photo to that booth behind you – each photo from each ride will be collected for you there, ready to collect when you leave.”

Mickey collected the lanyard passes and shoved the photo ticket into his pocket as Ian came to stand next to him, beaming widely. Mickey lifted his eyes at the attendant. “Anything else?”

She smiled that bright, false smile that everyone in customer services knows. “No, sir. You have a great day today!”

Ian waved enthusiastically at the attendant as Mickey snorted. Together they walked in through the gates, immediately hit with the scent of popcorn. “What? I'm just being friendly! You know, I read somewhere that theme park attendants have one of the unhappiest jobs.”

Mickey shook his head, laughing more now. “You're a fucking dork, Gallagher. I feel like you're full of shit. I'd much rather work here than picking up other people's garbage or...I don't fucking know. There are shittier jobs than this.”

“Think about it, though -”

Mickey cut him off with a kiss, surprising them both. But Mickey had wanted to say something, something that didn't seem right coming out in the middle of a theme park. He'd had to kiss Ian, really. Not that it was a chore, but Mickey was afraid of what might escape his lips otherwise. Ian's eyebrows were raised in surprise when they pulled apart. “Somebody is feeling brave today.”

“Fuck you, man.” They continued walking, Mickey surreptitiously flipping off a woman who was scowling at their outward display of affection. Normally it would send him into a spiral of self loathing but today, he felt happy for once. He pulled his glasses out from his pocket, shoving them on his face. “Right, give me this fucking map.”

“We have to do the Goliath ride first, Mick! Look at it!” Ian was pointing desperately to a picture of a ride that sent Mickey's stomach plummeting. Mickey eyed it before looking at the map through his glasses. “Or the Batman one!”

“Okay, first of fucking all – the Goliath ride is miles away. Are you kidding with this, man?”

“What?”

“We wanna make the most of this, right? Go on as many as we can?” Ian nodded in response, leading them to a bench next to a water fountain. A fine mist was slowly falling on them but it was cool on their warm skin. They sat as Mickey studied the map again. “Right. We gotta plan this out – work our way around and then through each section in the middle. Systematically. Obviously we can cross off this whole area because we aren't kids.”

From his pocket, Mickey pulled a blue pen and used it to cross off the rides meant for children under the age of twelve. Ian was staring but Mickey ignored him, instead using the pen to draw a line around the park from where they were on the map. “Mickey.”

“Huh?” 

Ian was smiling, but it was that kind of smile that made Mickey's insides screw up and made him want to be violently ill. He was getting used to the sensation but sometimes it threw him. Ian tended to do that to him. “You're the fucking dork.” 

“Man, what the -”

“Lead the way, dork.” Mickey pretended to glare at Ian but his heart wasn't in it, and Ian knew. They stood up, bumping shoulders as Mickey held out the map and gestured the direction they needed to head in, pulling off his glasses with his free hand. From the corner of his eye, Mickey could see Ian watching him but he ignored him – not fucking easy – and rounded the corner. The Giant Drop loomed over their heads and distant screams surrounded them on almost every side; Mickey felt a chill run through him as the Giant Drop lived up to it's name; the seats dropped with a speed that made Mickey's knees weak. Ian's eyes were watching it. “Can we do that first?”

“Fuck, man. I don't know if I can do that one at all!”

“We're going to come all this way and you're not going to go on the rides?” Ian's face was incredulous, full of disbelief. Mickey titled his head back and looked up at the ride towering over them. He was shit scared; the only thing that scared him more was saying those three words to Ian. He had no idea which he'd prefer. “Come on, Mick. I'll hold your hand?”

“I don't need you to hold my fucking hand, Gallagher.” One brave step forward and that was it; they were making their way towards the ride, joining the queue of excited people that snaked around the corner. A sign next to them told Mickey it was a ten minute wait from where they were standing. He took a deep breath. “These things are structurally sound, right?”

Ian only laughed, his hand on Mickey's back. It steadied him slightly and Mickey felt some of the fear he was feeling ease. Mickey let his eyes wander over the other people in the queue and felt a pang of embarrassment; the majority of them were kids only just tall enough to ride. He cleared his throat gruffly as Ian turned to him, a wide grin on his face. “I'm so excited!”

That feeling was beginning to take over Mickey again and he knew he'd rather the ride than talk about his feelings with Ian. Ever his back up, Mickey rolled his eyes and went for sarcasm instead of attempting to articulate what he was feeling. “You'd never know.”

The line moved slightly and they were around the corner, the ride totally in view now. Mickey could see the attendants – how the fuck old were they?! – letting people in through the gate and helping them into their seats. Sweat clung to Mickey's back; his palms were fists of wet in his pockets. A woman sitting on the ride suddenly went white and called to the attendant; she got off in a rush and disappeared through the exit gate. Mickey swallowed hard.

“If you don't wanna do this, Mick, just say.” 

“Shut the fuck up, man.” His voice didn't have the usual roughness; it was blatantly obvious that he was scared out of his mind but Ian didn't push it. Ian was right – what was the point in coming here if he didn't give each ride a go? The ride started to lift above them, dangling legs of the current passengers all they could see. It was at the top in no time and Mickey found himself holding his breath, waiting for it to drop. All at once, it was at the bottom again, the screams of the people riding it lost to the wind and their pale, smiling faces congratulating each other. Mickey clenched his fists tighter in his pocket as the line moved; they would be on next.

“Next, please!” Mickey had slowed the queue down by hesitating and the attendant hurried them through. He'd wanted to take his time, but then maybe it was better this way – force it and it would be over quickly. For the first time since their arrival, Mickey realised that there was music playing over several speakers in the park, one above the gate into the Giant Drop. It was playing a pop song that Mickey didn't know; somehow he felt heavy metal would be more appropriate.

Ian led them towards the seats nearest to them; there were four all up, and Mickey made the quick decision to sit on the outside. He didn't want to be screaming – and possibly crying – next to someone he didn't know. The attendant was lowering the top half of the seat over his shoulders and now panic was starting to set in – there was no turning back and it was that realisation that made Mickey feel faint. The sound of the seatbelt clicking into place cut off all other sound – the music stopped, he could no longer hear the sounds of the park. Ian was mumbling something next to him but Mickey was lost to the ride now, fear collecting him up in a ball and turning him around and around. There was a faint clicking every now and then and it registered to Mickey that it was the other people being clicked into their seats – seatbelts that didn't seem safe or strong enough but Mickey wasn't going to pull at that loose thread.

“You okay?” Mickey found Ian's green eyes, locking onto them as best he could; the shoulder pads of the ride cut off most of his vision but he could see the worry and Mickey latched on to it.

“Not really but there's fuck all I can do now, is there?”

With a clunk that Mickey was sure would haunt his dreams, they were rising. Ian's long gangly legs were swinging largely, back and forth with such gusto that Mickey felt the entire structure would topple over. Or maybe the sudden breeze would push them all over as easily as a feather in the wind? Mickey watched as the ground slowly got further and further away, the people got smaller. A fumble and Ian's hand was on his. Their eyes locked again and Mickey focused on the green that got him through so much; the green that told him it was going to be okay and the green that he looked forward to seeing every single day.

“Gallagher – fuck – Ian – I wanted to say something -” They were at the top. Mickey took a quick glance out before snapping his head back to Ian. There was no way he wanted to look at how small everything looked or think about what must only be seconds away. Ian was squeezing his hand, trying to catch Mickey's attention again. “I just – I wanted to say that I love you.”

Mickey only had a split second to register the surprise in Ian's face before the ride was plummeting to the ground and Mickey was sure that this was it, this was how he was going to die. There was nothing he was more certain of. How was the ride still going? It was over so quickly when he'd watched it but the strangled scream was still escaping his lips meaning the ride was still falling, falling. Shouldn't it be stopping? The ground was right there, so fucking close, and it hadn't stopped.

“Fuck!” A grunt and the brakes caught them; they slowed and the world was back. Nervous laughter and screams surrounded him. The same pop song that had been playing when he'd entered the ride was still blasting from the speakers – had it really been over that quick? He'd felt like it had lasted an eternity. Their seatbelts clicked in release and Mickey pushed the whole thing up and over his head, feeling his breath slow down and come more easily with that simple movement. They stood up awkwardly, wobbling towards the exit gate. Mickey was aware that his legs felt like jelly before he looked back, up at what he'd just conquered. He swore again. “Fuck.”

When they were out of the gate and the people who'd been on the ride with them had dispersed, taking their nervous chatter with them, Ian pulled Mickey close and gripped his hand tightly. His voice was breathless when he spoke. “I can't believe we just did that.”

It would be easy, Mickey thought carefully, for him to ignore what he'd said at the top of the ride. He could forget it and change the subject, pretend not to see the hurt in Ian's eyes. But if he didn't say something now, he wasn't sure when he'd say it again. And he sure as fuck wasn't riding that again. “Ian. I love you.”

Ian smiled, warm and wide, leaning in close and planting a kiss on Mickey's cheek. He felt himself blushing and willed his cheeks to return to their pale colour. “I love you, too, you fucking idiot.”

The moment was over, but it was enough for them both. They didn't need a romantic setting or background music. It was memorable enough. Mickey shoved Ian hard before reaching for the map in his pocket. “You're a fucking dick!”

–

Ian wasn't sure he'd ever felt this happy before. From the moment he saw the Six Flags sign he was buzzing – the day had just been a leap from one high to the next. It was hard to know if the best part had been Mickey's nervous face at the top of the Giant Drop – which Ian now knew was due to other reasons, not just the sheer height and terror of the ride – or the fact that Mickey had bought photo packages and fast passes. They hadn't waited for more than ten minutes for any ride all day, and had a collection of mostly hilarious photos to remember the day by. Ian didn't want to dwell on how much it must have cost Mickey. 

“So, what'd you get me, then?” Mickey's voice was light but Ian could sense the nerves behind it. He could only imagine what Mickey was thinking – that he'd taken Ian on such an amazing day out and Ian didn't even care enough to do anything in return. They were lying on the bed on top of the blankets, fully clothed and utterly exhausted. It was late and Ian knew he had to go back to the real world and go to work the next day, but I didn't even have the energy to drag himself under the covers. Somehow he managed to turn on his side and prop his head up with his hand.

“I'm not sure anything I could ever give you could top today, Mick.” And he meant it. Ian was still in shock at the extent to which Mickey had planned everything. He hadn't expected much – it wasn't like they were an overly affectionate couple. Mickey liked to show his feelings in a different way – one that Ian fucking loved – but it wasn't like they were the cards and flowers type. A year on and Mickey was still surprising Ian. He somehow mustered the energy to reach into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Folded ever so carefully into it, Ian pulled out the tickets that he'd worked so hard to get. “I got you two tickets to the Arctic Monkeys concert next month.”

Mickey widened his eyes, snatching them from Ian's hands and reading them carefully. “Are you fucking kidding me, Ian?”

“I know how much you like them.” Ian shrugged, feeling a smile creep onto his face at the sight of Mickey beaming.

“I fucking love them.” A beat of silence that was barely noticeable before a quieter few words. “And I love you.”

Twice in one day. Ian would never stop being surprised by Mickey. And he certainly didn't want to be.


	7. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can't we just stay silent? Speaking now seems far too violent."

_1 Day After//_

It was hard for Ian to believe that 24 hours earlier he'd woken up with Mickey in the bed next to him and their anniversary on his mind. That 23 hours earlier he'd been cooking Mickey breakfast. 22 hours earlier and he'd been shitty that Mickey hadn't made a big deal of their five year anniversary. Now, with his eyes screwed tightly shut, he tried his best to imagine that he wasn't on the wrong side of the bed, and that it was the right Milkovich snoring lightly next to him. Ian could see the light attempting to penetrate his eyelids as it slowly infiltrated the room – he would have to face the day sooner or later. It felt weird to be on Mickey's side of the bed and it had affected Ian's sleep; his head felt heavy on the pillow and a slight wave of nausea was hitting him. 

“Fuck it.” Ian mumbled, taking a deep breath as he opened his eyes. The curtains weren't closed – Ian had missed that detail when they'd gotten into bed the night before – which explained why it was so bright. The sunlight blinded him for a second and he used his hand to shade his face. Slowly, Ian sat up and rubbed his face, stretching his arms up in the air and feeling his back click. He enjoyed the sensation and twisted slightly to elicit another sound from his back, this one louder.

“You're fucking disgusting.” Mandy's voice was muffled as she sat up. Ian turned and smirked at her – her hair sat in a wild nest on the top of her head. “Fuck you, Gallagher.”

Ian rolled his eyes and stood up, ignoring the protests his body was shouting at him. “You sound just like Mickey, jesus.”

“Weird. Almost like we're related.”

Ian ignored her and picked up his phone. There was a moment when he expected a text from Mickey before remembering the situation. Ian ignored his other texts for now. He had a missed call – already – from Fiona. He tapped the picture of her face and hit send.

“Ian! Thank god. How are you?”

The familiar voice of his older sister reassured him a little; he had a big family full of people to support him through whatever was coming. Ian stood up, the phone pressed to his ear, and headed down the hallway and into the kitchen. “I'm okay, Fi.”

“You don't sound okay. How's Mickey doin'?”

“Who knows. We weren't allowed in to see him. I've only just woken up.” Ian put a pot of coffee on and leaned against the bench, closing his eyes as he listened to Fiona talk. His free hand massaged the space between his eyes; he could feel a headache coming on.

“Well, Chris has given me the mornin' off of work so I'm gonna to come down and wait with you for a bit. Are you headin' to the hospital now?”

A wave of appreciation rushed through him at his sister's words. “Just grabbing some coffee and then we'll be on our way.”

“We?”

“Mandy stayed last night.”

Fiona sighed deeply. “I just can't believe it, Ian. Text me when you're on your way and I'll meet you there. Love ya.”

Ian hung up as the smell of coffee filled the room and Mandy walked in, fully dressed in her uniform from the night before. She raised her eyebrows at him. “Fiona?”

“Yeah. She's going to meet us at the hospital.” Ian finished pouring out two portable cups of coffee and handed one to Mandy. “I'm gonna have a quick shower and head out. You going home first?”

“I wanna get out of my uniform and wear real clothes.” Mandy nodded, accepting her coffee with a quick smile. “Shall I just meet you there?”

“That's probably easiest. I'll call Svetlana once I've spoken to the doctor.” 

“Alright. I'll see you soon, then.” Mandy gave him a one armed hug and walked out the front door, leaving Ian standing in the living room watching her leave. He waited a moment before he sat down on the floor right where he was and unlocked his phone.

_I didn't mean to upset you last night, man. We all want him to be okay, Amanda included. Let me know how he's doing. Hope I'm still your favourite big brother!_

Ian snorted loudly at Lip's pathetic attempt at humour and sent a quick reply to Lip before opening up another text, this time from Debbie. Hers was similar to Lip's and he sent her a reply almost identical to the one he'd sent Lip. His work colleague, Hitomi, was next and instead of replying, he hit the call button.

“Hey, Ian! I've been thinking about you all morning. How are you?” Ian briefly wondered if people were confused and thought that he was the one who was injured – everyone was asking after him and it was starting to niggle at him.

“I'm fine. Did you hold up okay yesterday? Sorry I had to skip out.” Why was he apologising? Ian shook his head, finally lifting himself up off of the floor and heading back towards the bathroom.

“Oh, don't even bother with apologies. Do you want to speak to Claire? She's here.”

“Yes, please.”

There was the sound of muffled voices before a crackling sound was heard over the line. Claire's crisp voice came through. “Ian. We're all very sorry to hear about Mickey.”

Always abrupt, Ian thought with a bitter smile, trying to ignore the way she'd phrased her sentence as if something more serious had happened to Mickey. “He's going to be okay.”

It was an obvious lie but Ian was grateful for the fact that Claire didn't push it. He stood in the bathroom, staring at the shower as he waited for Claire to keep talking. “You need today off, yes?”

“If that's okay?”

“Of course it is. Give me a call later and let me know how he's doing. I'll pass you back over to Hitomi.”

There was an obvious pause as Hitomi waited for Claire to leave the office Ian usually shared with her before she spoke again. “By 'let me know how he's doing', she really means 'let me know when you're coming back to work'.”

Ian laughed lightly, wishing he was at work. “I don't think Claire has a sympathetic bone in her body.”

“Of course she doesn't. Now, how is Mickey doing?”

“Uh – not really sure yet. We haven't been allowed in to see him and we're not even sure we'll be allowed in this morning.” Ian tried to keep his voice steady, but some form of emotion leaked into it and he felt tears pricking his eyes. “I just want to see that he's okay.”

“Oh, Ian.” Again with that tone, like Ian was suffering. Mickey was the one laid up in the fucking hospital with a possibly serious head injury. Her words swiftly turned his sadness into anger and he made to end the conversation for fear that he would say something he'd later regret. 

“I better go, Tomi.” Ian hoped that his nickname for Hitomi would keep her at bay – he didn't want any more questions about Mickey or his own well-being. “I'll text you with an update when I know more.”

They said their goodbyes and Ian put his phone on the window sill, turning again to the shower. He was rushing now; hope was slowly blooming in his chest. For al l he knew, they would turn up at the hospital and the doctors would tell him that Mickey could go home. Somewhere, deep down where he didn't want to look, something was telling him that this wouldn't be the case but Ian ignored it as he climbed into the shower. Hope was a good thing to have, right? He spent the whole time in the shower trying to convince his self that it was.

Maybe not. “Dr Castillo asked me to pass on the message that you won't be able to see Mr Milkovich this morning. She'll be in around eleven to give you an update herself.”

Mandy thanked the nurse that had spoken to them in the waiting room of ward 7. Ian felt like he was experiencing deja vu. He looked around at Fiona slouched on the chair next to him, biting her lip; Mandy was pacing in front of them – in clean clothes – and Grace was in the chair opposite them, staring blankly at the wall. The players had changed but the game was the same – waiting, always waiting. 

“I called Svet. She's going to tell Yev after school today but I don't think they'll visit just yet. Depends on how Mickey goes today.” Ian looked up at Mandy as she spoke. “I gave Iggy an update, too. I think he's more excited about helping run the business.”

Ian attempted a laugh but it was just an empty sound. “Thanks, Mandy.” Fiona reached her hand across and gave his a squeeze.

“We're all here for him, Ian. He'll know it.” Fiona's words were comforting somehow, considering how long it had taken for Ian to even introduce Mickey to them. He'd been so shit scared that they wouldn't like him – which only proved how much Ian had cared for him, even then.

 

_4 years before//_

“Mickey, we've been together a year and you've only met Debbie! And that was a fucking accident! This is bullshit – you have to come. Fiona is excited about her promotion and wants to celebrate with all of us – that fucking means you, too!” Ian's voice cut through whatever silence Mickey had previously had. He sat on the couch in Ian's shitty apartment, wishing like fuck he was in his own place, doing his best to avoid the argument. Ian wasn't having any of it, his voice carrying through from the kitchen where he was doing the dishes. “And while we're fucking at it, you can introduce me to someone other than Grace!”

“Who the fuck else is there?” Mickey mumbled, more to himself than Ian but with his big fucking dumbo ears, Ian came storming into the room.

“Your brothers, for starters!”

“You ain't fucking meeting those assholes!” They rarely argued, something Ian would often brag about. When they did, though, it was almost always fucking big. And Mickey hated it. “Mandy and Grace are it. They're my fucking family.”

“Oh, poor Mickey had a shitty upbringing. I'm not asking to fucking meet Terry!” Ian came around to stand in front of the couch, anger emanating from him as he shoved his hands on his hips. “Iggy has been hanging around and coming back into your life more and more – you have dinner with him all the fucking time. And you don't want to invite me to one of those?”

“No, I fucking don't!”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Look, Ian. I didn't come from the fucking Brady bunch where everyone loves each other despite the shit they dealt with growing up, okay? I got beat up, stabbed – fucking shot in the fucking ass at one fucking point – but somehow, I managed to land a job, a house and – god fucking knows how – you and Yev. You think I wanna invite the shit I crawled out of back into my fucking life?” It wasn't much more than Mickey had told Ian about – they'd been together a year. Childhoods and past lives had definitely come up. It was more that Mickey had never been this open about it before. He was riled the fuck up, though, and wasn't about to stop. He stood up and matched his anger to Ian's. “And while we're fucking on the subject – why the fuck have I only met Debbie? A fucking year, Ian – you have an endless amount of siblings and I've only met one. You ashamed of your Milkovich scum of a boyfriend?”

Ian took a step back, visibly shocked by Mickey's words. There was nothing but heavy breathing filling the room as they stared at each other, eyes wide with anger. Their real emotions were hidden behind it. Ian shook his head slowly. “That's what you think?”

“Give me one fucking reason why I haven't met them in this whole year, Ian.” Ian fumbled over his words, mumbled something Mickey couldn't hear and then tried to walk out of the room. Mickey grabbed his arm and made him turn around again. “Fuck me, you are ashamed, aren't you?”

“Not ashamed -”

Mickey didn't let him get any further. He pushed past Ian and headed for the front door. “I'm going to stay with Grace.”

The night air was warm, too warm, and it made Mickey feel sick. Ian didn't follow him. That was the first thing that stuck in his mind. He'd expected a dramatic movie moment where Ian would chase him down the street but it didn't happen and all that Mickey could thing was that he was right – Ian was ashamed of him. A rock appeared out of nowhere and Mickey kicked it hard. It flew across the street and hit the door of a parked car – it was enough to set the alarm off and the screech of it filled the empty street. Mickey took off running. All he fucking needed was to be arrested. Then Ian would really have something to be ashamed about.

Why did he say he was going to stay at Grace's? His own place was closer and if Ian went looking for him, he'd look in the wrong place. Mickey grunted out a laugh – Ian wasn't going to come looking for him. An hour passed and Mickey was still walking, though he was surrounded more by shops than houses now. A twenty four hour diner sat across the road boasting hot coffee and Mickey headed straight for it. A black coffee was just what he needed.

It wasn't a new thing for someone to be ashamed of him. Mickey had aggressive tattoos on his knuckles and a face that screamed 'fuck off' – Mickey had grown up with people avoiding him. He'd never cared or bothered to wonder why. He was a fucking Milkovich and it came with the name. Not many people were born with a reputation already firmly intact. It had been that way since he could remember. But Ian being ashamed of him felt different; it was more like a knife twisting into his side and salt being thrown on the wound. If Mickey was honest with himself, he didn't truly think that Ian was ashamed of him; after a year together, Mickey was sure he would have realised it before now. Whatever was keeping Ian from introducing Mickey to his extended family, it was a mystery to them both. 

It wasn't until five in the early hours of the morning that Mickey realised that sitting in a diner drinking shit coffee all night wasn't going to solve anything. He ordered two coffees to go and headed outside to find a cab to take him home.

He didn't expect Ian to be asleep on the couch when he got back. The door was unlocked – in the back of his mind, Mickey knew it was because he didn't have a key and Ian wanted to leave it like that for him to come back – and the curtains were open. Maybe Ian had been up all night, too? Ian's long body was curled on the couch, his legs bent at a weird angle to fit on the piece of furniture that was way too small for him. Mickey sat down on the floor, his back against the couch, and leaned his head back to rest. Sleep washed over him almost immediately and the exhaustion of the night wiped him out. Mickey was vaguely aware that Ian was stirring on the couch behind him, but sleep seemed like such a good idea.

“The fuck?”

Mickey flung his eyes open, sitting up abruptly and clinging onto the coffees. “Who's there?” He said stupidly.

“What? Nobody. I was talking to you.” Ian replied, sitting up on the couch and stretching out his long torso. Mickey set the coffees on the small table in front of him and rubbed his tired eyes. “When did you get here?”

“Not long ago. It's still early.” 

Ian stood up, looking down at Mickey cautiously. “You look like shit. Did you sleep?”

“Thanks a fucking lot. No, I didn't.” 

Ian held out his hand and waited patiently. “Then lets get some fucking sleep.”

Mickey glanced up, attempting to work out Ian's expression but his brain could only focus on the word sleep. He took Ian's hand and used it to help haul himself up off the floor, grunting slightly as he did so. They made their way into Ian's small bedroom and crawled under the covers, not bothering to remove any clothes. Lying on his side, Mickey felt Ian climb in behind him and almost immediately move over to hold Mickey tight. They fell asleep that way, a small smile on Mickey's face.

“I'm not ashamed of you.” Ian's voice was small, hours later when they were both awake but neither wanted to move. The room was stuffy and the noises of the street were infiltrating through the thin windows. Mickey kept his eyes closed, wanting to enjoy the moment a little longer. “I want them to like you so much that I'm scared they won't.”

“Why wouldn't they?”

“Of course they're going to love you. Debbie already talks about you all the time to Fi. She doesn't shut up about you, actually.” There was a hint of humour in Ian's voice and Mickey felt relief slowly starting to ebb into his body. “You just – I don't – I can't -”

“Don't hurt yourself.”

Ian prodded Mickey's back hard with his finger. “Fuck you. I don't...you mean a lot to me, Mickey. A lot. That trip to Six Flags kind of cemented the fact that you're from fucking outer space because no one has ever treated me like that. I didn't want to share you, and I didn't want to shatter whatever we have.”

“Even after a year? Come on, man. Even if they don't fucking like me – is that going to affect how you feel?”

“Of course not!”

“Then stop being a fucking wimp.”

“Okay, I propose a deal.” Ian sat up in the bed now, facing Mickey as the latter slowly twisted in bed and sat up, too. Mickey stared at him, waiting. “Let me meet Iggy, and you can meet everyone at Fi's celebration dinner.”

Mickey thought about Iggy, and how sometimes his jokes weren't really funny, and how he could be annoying – how sometimes, Mickey wanted to punch him in the fucking face. Then he thought about Ian, and how fucking much Ian meant to him, too. “Okay.”

–

Ian didn't get nervous often, but he was fucking nervous waiting for Mickey and Iggy to turn up. He was seated in the back of the bar they'd agreed to meet in nursing a beer and jumping his leg up and down. He wasn't entirely sure why he was so nervous – Mickey had the entire Gallagher clan to meet the following night. They'd decided to get it all over with in one week and Fiona's celebration dinner for her promotion was the perfect night for it. They'd scheduled the drink with Iggy for the night before it but now Ian was regretting it. As it was, he'd spent twenty minutes trying to find something to wear. It was like a fucking first date. He was moments away from biting his nails when a familiar face walked through the entrance, closely followed by someone who could only be Iggy, judging by the face that just screamed Milkovich. Mickey raised a hand at Ian before heading towards the bar; Ian watched as Iggy stood still, then one step towards Ian before taking a step back towards Mickey. He looked as if he was doing some sort of dance and Ian smirked to himself as Mickey hissed something – Iggy went and stood at the bar next to him, his head low.

They arrived at the table a few minutes later, a beer each in hand and an extra one for Ian – who had downed the last of his while waiting for the pair of them. Ian only had a moment to register how nervous Mickey looked before Iggy was swooping in past Mickey and bundling in next to Ian with a wide grin on his face.

“Hi! I'm Iggy. Nice to meet you!” It was overly bright and Ian grinned, hiding his humour and accepting the hand Iggy was holding out. Iggy almost wrenched Ian's arm out of his socket with his enthusiastic hand shake and they both ignored Mickey's smirk as he slid into the seat across from them. Ian's nerves were already disappearing. “Mickey's told me all about you!”

“All good, I hope.” Ian replied with a quick look to Mickey who was rolling his eyes.

“Iggy, calm the fuck down.”

“So, Ian. Mickey tells me you're a counsellor?” 

“Jesus christ.” Iggy ignored Mickey's comment and took a sip of his beer as if he was the queen of England and waited patiently for Ian to reply.

“Uh – yeah. I work at the same community college that Mandy is studying at, actually. That's how we met.” Ian explained, taking a gulp of his own drink and wishing like fuck it was ten times bigger.

“And, in turn, that's how you met Mickey, is that right?” Ian was sure Mickey had described Iggy as a former thug trying to get his life back on track, which was not what was sitting in front of Ian now. “Such a great story. I must say – that's a fabulous shirt you're wearing.”

Mickey snorted into his drink, spilling half of it across the table as Ian tried not to laugh. “Iggy! What the fuck, man?”

“What?” Iggy hissed, narrowing his eyes at Mickey. Ian watched the pair stare at each other intensely, no doubt cursing each other in a silent way only siblings could do. “I'm being polite.”

“You're being a fucking ass. Just act normal!”

“Mickey, I'm not -”

“Ian isn't someone you need to impress. I have to do the impressing.” Mickey said carefully, using napkins to clean up the beer he'd spilled on the table. Ian frowned at his words but Mickey waved his hand in Ian's direction. “Just stop being a fucking dick and talk normally.”

“Honestly, Iggy. It's okay – to be fair, I was really nervous to meet you.” Ian smiled warmly at Iggy whose cheeks were slowly turning red. 

“Fuck, now I look like a fucking idiot!” From super polite to Milkovich in less than a second, both Mickey and Ian laughed this time. Iggy flipped his brother off and sulked into his drink.

“His shirt looks fabulous? Come on, Ig.” Mickey laughed again, a rare laugh that Ian always enjoyed when it appeared. “I told you to just act normal.”

“I only wanted to make a good fucking impression.”

“You certainly made an impression.” Ian quipped, watching Mickey laugh again. Iggy looked up at him and Ian saw the similarities; Iggy's eyes weren't quite the same blue as Mickey's but they were close. His eyebrows – weirdly enough – were strikingly similar to Mickey, too. Iggy shook his head slowly before eyeing up Ian.

“Seriously, though. That's a great shirt.”

“Thanks.” Ian laughed, nodding in his direction.

“You know, Mick. This is the first one of your boyfriend's I've ever met.” Iggy said slowly, and Ian raised an eyebrow across the table.

“That would be because he's the only boyfriend I've had, you fucking tool.” Mickey retorted. “And look how you handled it – jesus fucking christ.”

It had ended up being a good evening – Ian and Mickey spent the majority of the time teasing Iggy, before Iggy and Ian switched it up and started teasing Mickey. The night ended quickly after that; Mickey wasn't a fan of being made fun of. When Ian was just about to fall asleep later that night, Mickey pulled him back to consciousness.

“Tonight went okay, right?”

“Of course it did.”

–

Mickey got nervous often, and meeting Ian's entire fucking family was not going to be an exception. Thank fuck Ian was driving because christ – Mickey could barely walk to the car. Ian kept trying to make conversation but Mickey was scared to open his mouth in case he chucked his fucking guts up everywhere. They had been dating a year and Mickey was twenty fucking two years old and yet he wanted to open the door and face whatever injuries would come on throwing himself out of the moving car. Before he had time to register what was happening, the car was slowing and Ian was parking in front of a typical south side house not unlike the one he grew up in.

“We're here.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Fuck you. Don't take your nerves out on me.”

“Should I take them out on your family instead, Ian?”

“Lets just get inside, shall we?”

Mickey wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans and opened the car door, taking his sweet ass time to straighten out his shirt before Ian rolled his eyes and tugged on his arm, pulling him towards the steps. It felt like climbing fucking Everest. Sound was thumping through the walls and voices could be heard over the top of it; it only made Mickey feel worse. He contemplated how mad Ian would be if he just ran away but before he could decide how much he would care, they were at the front door and Ian was pushing it open. The sound wasn't as loud as it had seemed from outside, but the moment Ian walked through the door, a chorus of voices called out.

“Ian!”

“Hey, look who it is!”

“Long time, no see!”

Mickey spotted Debbie in the background and when she gave him a small wave, he felt his nerves dissipate slightly. Slightly.

“Hey, guys.” Ian was hugging a tall woman whose smile was wider than a fucking Cheshire cat. She pulled away from Ian and turned to Mickey, her smile fading just a bit that cranked Mickey's nerves right back up again. “This is Mickey. Mick, this is my big sister, Fiona.”

Mickey made the moment more awkward by holding out his hand while Fiona came in for a hug – who the fuck hugs someone they've just met? He ended up almost stabbing her with his arm before awkwardly putting it around her back as they hugged. He pulled back and tried to put a smile on his face that wouldn't come across as creepy. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too! Ian has told us so much about you – we're just mad he kept you from us for so long. Come and meet everyone.” She tugged on his arm slightly, pushing past Ian as Mickey followed her. Ian sent him a thumbs up before laughing and disappearing towards the kitchen. Mickey barely had time to register that he was alone in a room of people he didn't know before Fiona was pointing at people.

“That's Liam, Ian's youngest brother. Carl – another brother. You've met Debbie, right?” Mickey nodded tightly. “Our neighbours and best friends Kev and Vee with their twins Amy and Gemma. Lip is Ian's older brother.”

Dumb fucking name, Mickey thought as the older brother came over and nodded, a small smile on his face and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He took it out and gestured to Mickey. “You looking after my brother?”

Before Mickey could reply, Ian was – thankfully – back at his side with two beers in his hands. “Shut the fuck up, Lip.”

“I was fucking kidding!”

“And this -” Fiona cut in, silencing Lip with a well executed glare. A man stood at her side, a kind smile on his face. “This is Mike, my soon to be husband!”

“Nice to meet all of you.” Mickey got out, overwhelmed by all of the faces looking at him. They all stared for a moment and Mickey wondered if he should say something before Vee called Ian over and the music somehow became louder. Debbie came over and gestured for Mickey to join her on the bottom step of the stairs that led up to another floor in the house.

“A lot to take in, huh?” She started, taking a sip of the beer in her hands. “Don't worry too much. Fiona is the focus tonight.”

“Thanks, Debs.” Mickey had always liked Debbie. He'd met her by accident when he'd turned up at Ian's house unannounced and they'd hit it off straight away. He wasn't sure what it was – there was something about her that made him want to talk to her. They'd even spent an afternoon baking fucking cookies because she had a kid's birthday party to go to and had left it to the last minute. “What's Lip's deal?”

Debbie glanced across the room where Lip was laughing with who Fiona had introduced as Kev, but every so often he would flick his eyes across to Mickey. Debbie laughed slightly. “He's my brother, but he's a dick. He acts like he's hot shit but if he says anything, he's just looking out for Ian. Don't worry about him.”

Mickey watched Lip and knew already that he didn't like him much. His dumb fucking name, first of all. “How's school?”

Debbie made a disgusted noise. “It's school. Only a few months before I can drop out and start working. I think I'm going to go into childcare.”

It was Mickey's turn to make a disgusted noise. “Why the fuck would you wanna do that?” 

“I've always liked the idea of it.” Debbie shrugged as Liam walked over to them with a soft toy in one hand and a donut in his other. “Grew up looking after you, didn't I?”

“We're doing the cake for Fi, now, Debs.” Liam eyed Mickey cautiously, shoving the last of his donut in his mouth and speaking with his mouth full. “Do you love Ian?”

Mickey was taken aback. Ignoring Debbie's snort at his reaction, he cleared his throat loudly. “Yes.”

“Are you his boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like Batman?”

Fucking twenty one questions with this one. Mickey nodded slowly. “I do.” And then, miraculously out of fucking nowhere, Mickey figured out how to talk to kids, other than his own. “Especially his Batmobile. Do you like Batman?”

Liam's face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Yes! He's my favourite. Grace at my school said that Spiderman is better but I told her she's stupid.”

Mickey had no idea how to respond to that but he was saved by Debbie standing up and gesturing for them to both follow her. Everyone was heading into the kitchen and Mickey made to follow but was stopped by a small hand on his leg. Liam looked up at Mickey, a strange look on his face. “You okay, kid?”

“I like you.” It was a simple statement and Liam didn't elaborate but for some reason, it stuck with Mickey for the rest of the evening. After they'd cut up the cake – Ian and Mickey had arrived after dinner – and made a toast to Fiona, Vee left to take the twins home. Fiona told Liam it was time for bed and Liam made a beeline for Mickey. He was sitting at the dining table with Ian and Debbie, talking about some of the shitty kids Debbie had babysat for in the past. Liam looked up at him with wide eyes. “What's your name again?”

“Mickey.” Fiona was watching with a smile on her face and Mickey tried to ignore the smile on Ian's face. He was going to get shit for this later. 

“Goodnight, Mickey.”

“Night, kid.”

It was silent as Liam walked out of the room and up the stairs with Fiona, Mike following to tuck Liam in. Lip came strolling in, a beer in hand. “Aren't you the charmer, Milkovich.”

Something in the way Lip said his last name told Mickey that he no doubt knew about the Milkovich family. Mickey groaned inwardly – this guy just seemed to ooze douchebag – but kept his face neutral. “I guess so.”

Instead of addressing Mickey again, Lip turned to Ian, swaying slightly as he did so. “Well, Ian. I have to say he's a lot better than the fuckwits you used to date.”

Mickey's eyes shot to Ian who was glaring daggers at his brother. “Shut up, Lip.”

“Hey! I'm serious. At least this one is closer to your age.” Lip was clearly drunk – he was now resting one hand on the kitchen bench to steady himself. Debbie shook her head as Lip smiled widely, looking between Ian and Mickey. “Well, he's still older – right?”

“Lip, shut the fuck up.” Ian didn't raise his voice but he didn't have to; there was enough ice in his words to chill them all to the bone. Mickey had never really seen Ian that angry. They'd had arguments in the past – shit, they'd had one over this very evening – but there was something different about the Ian that was sitting in front of Mickey now. Lip attempted to put his hands up in surrender but stumbled backwards and only just managed to catch his balance. His beer came close to spilling out of the can but there can't have been much left. Lip downed it before speaking again.

“Come on, little bro. Remember Kash? Or Ned? You must remember them. One was your first and the other was Fiona's ex-boyfriend's slimy old dad!” Ignoring the way Ian's face was slowly growing a darker shade of red, Lip staggered forward a few steps, almost colliding with the bench, and pointed his empty beer can at Mickey. “You're a step up from those old fuckers, let me tell you. I don't know how much of a step, though. I know all about your last name -”

“Lip!” It was Fiona. She stood at the bottom of the stairs that descended into the kitchen, her hands on her hips and looking every bit like a mother who'd just caught her kid smoking. Lip laughed at her and she flipped him off. “You're off your fuckin' face. Get some fresh air.”

Lip saluted her with his hand and winked at Mickey before smiling serenely at Ian on his way out the back door. Ian stood up almost immediately but Fiona quelled him with one look. “If you're even thinkin' about goin' out there to start somethin' with him, you can forget it.”

“He's a fucking asshole!” Ian seethed, still standing up. Debbie was rolling her eyes from the table; Mickey didn't know what to do. 

“He's an asshole.” Fiona agreed. “But he's your brother and he's fuckin' drunk, Ian.”

Ian made a frustrated noise and moved out from the table, gesturing at Mickey. “We should go.”

Fiona looked as if she was about to protest but decided better of it; Ian's face was like thunder and Mickey was not looking forward to their drive home. “Thanks for comin'.”

“Congratulations on your promotion.” Mickey said awkwardly. Fiona came towards him with another one of her wide grins and hugged him tightly; Mickey wasn't used to knowing someone who hugged so much but with a small pang, he realised he didn't hate it. His family had never been like this and fuck, maybe he was realising now what he'd missed out on. 

Ian tugged on Mickey's arm after saying goodbye to his sister and they made their way towards the door, nodding goodbye to Mike who was half asleep on the couch. When they were out in the night air, thick with humidity, Ian let out a long breath. “Sometimes, I really fucking hate Lip.”

Mickey wasn't entirely sure what to say as they climbed into Ian's car, Ian slamming the door as he did so. Neither of them had drunk very much but Ian insisted on driving. He started up the car and pulled away from the kerb with just enough speed that Mickey considered walking. When they'd been driving for a few minutes, Mickey glanced at him carefully. “You okay, man?”

Ian took a deep breath and pulled over abruptly to the side of the road. “Do you want to move in together?”

“The fuck?” Mickey was shocked – he'd expected a rant of some sort about brothers and how much they sucked. When Mickey took into account how ridiculous his own brother had acted, he would be inclined to agree with Ian if that was the case. But this? Ian turned in the seat, awkwardly avoiding the steering wheel, and fixed Mickey with a glare.

“Just say if you think it's a shit idea but we already stay over at each other's places six days out of seven. I just...” Ian trailed off, running a hand through his red hair and sending strands of it off in different directions. The street light outside caught patches of it and it glinted a burning red in the light. “You can handle my crazy. You don't give a shit about my family or that I have bipolar, or the fact that my brother is a fucking tool and I just -”

“Of course I will.”

“Will what?”

“Fucking move to Paris, what the fuck do you think?”

Ian was grinning now, sending something resembling butterflies up in the air in Mickey's stomach. Mickey laughed at the dumb shit look on Ian's face as he started up the car again, pulling away and heading for Mickey's house. “Which house should we live in?”

“Mine.” Mickey said without thinking and Ian snorted. “No, wait. I have scientific reasoning to back that shit up. My house is closer to your work and mine, plus it's slightly bigger. And half your shit is already there.”

“Bullshit!”

“Ian, I found your electric bill under my couch the other day. Come on, man.”

“Okay, okay. Jesus.” Ian relented before turning to grin at Mickey for a second. “So, are we doing this?”

“We're fucking doing this.”


	8. Is It Enough?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't you shut this down, don't you give this up. I took all this love I found, and I hope that it's enough. Is it enough?"

_3 Years Before//_

 

“So, what theme park are we going to this year?”

Mickey rolled his eyes heavily, making sure to pull a disgusted face at the same time. He shoved the rest of his burger into his mouth and stared at Ian as he ate. “You done making your jokes, funny guy?”

Ian snorted, putting a handful of fries into his mouth. “Never.”

Two years. Mickey watched as Ian swallowed his food and took a swig of his beer, looking around the restaurant they were in. Mickey had never been with anyone longer than a week before Ian – shit, he never made it past an hour. Every day was a new step into uncharted territory and it scared the shit out of him. He hadn't done much for their anniversary this year – he'd outdone himself the year before and fuck it, he had no fucking ideas anyway. He'd taken Ian out for dinner and if he was honest with himself, Mickey was kind of waiting for...something from Ian. He wasn't sure what, but Ian had been dropping hints all week that something big was coming. It was late evening and so far, Mickey had seen nothing.

“What are you thinking about?”

Mickey snapped back to attention and hitched his regular expression back onto his face. “Wondering where the fuck your gift is, Gallagher.”

“Of course. You're so fucking impatient.” Ian laughed lightly and Mickey just stared, waiting. “Jesus, if you really must have it now. I was hoping it would be immediately followed by fucking, so I was waiting until we got home but okay.”

Mickey's eyes darted around at the other tables furiously, hoping no one had heard Ian but the music in the restaurant was loud and people were too involved themselves, anyway. He shot Ian a look. “Asshole. You won't be getting shit now.”

“We'll see about that.” From his back pocket, Ian pulled out an envelope. Mickey frowned as he took it, ideas rushing through his head as he tried to work out what it was. “You know, if you open it, you'll actually get to see what it is.”

Mickey flipped Ian off before turning the envelope over. It wasn't sealed, though slightly wrinkled from being under Ian's ass all night, and Mickey pulled out two pieces of thin card. Turning them the right way up, he gaped at them. “The fuck?”

“We've never been anywhere together and I know it's only New York but I couldn't afford anywhere international but I paid for the hotel already so all we need is spending money and I talked to Gary and he said you can have those days off and -”

“Ian, shut the fuck up.” Mickey shot out, finally registering that Ian was still rambling. He looked up from the tickets in his hands and saw that Ian was nervous and biting his nails – something he never did. “You bought me a fucking trip to New York?”

“I wanted to get more but -”

“Ian, _shut the fuck up_.” Mickey gave Ian a half smile, still not quite able to work out how this made him feel. His whole life, the tradition of giving gifts on birthdays or Christmas had never really been stuck to. His mom was the only one who ever gave gifts, and their family had never really been rolling in money. For his third birthday, he gotten a chocolate bar and a magazine full of nude women from his dad. Tickets for a holiday somewhere – this was next level shit and Mickey had no idea how to respond.

Hesitantly, Ian spoke. “Do you like it?”

“I've never been on a holiday before.”

“What?”

“Well, unless you count drug runs.” Ian shook his head which told Mickey that no, drug runs didn't count. In a quiet voice, because he didn't fucking trust himself not to let out more emotion than he was used to in public, Mickey answered Ian's original question. “I love it.”

They shared a quick moment; their eyes connected and Mickey felt a wave of emotion that threatened to spill over. Ian understood, though. He just got Mickey, and it was one of the things Mickey loved the most about him. He didn't need to explain how he was feeling or attempt to put anything into words; Ian just looked at him and seemed to know what Mickey was thinking or feeling. “So, Mandy still has no idea about Saturday night?”

Within a week, Mandy had graduated with her associates degree in nursing and managed to secure a job at a private hospital where she could work and study to become a registered nurse. Mickey knew how much of a big deal it was for her – it wasn't the Milkovich way to make something of yourself – and so he and Ian had been planning a surprise party for her. “No idea. Grace is in charge of the cake – she's going to bake something massive, I think.”

“Great. Yev is coming over after school tomorrow, right?” Ian asked, dipping his last few fries into the ketchup on his plate. Mickey nodded. “We can do the sign.”

–

If being a dad had taught Mickey anything, it was that kids would work for free, or at the very least, for a candy bar of some sort. After stopping off at the craft store, Yevgeny and Mickey had picked out a giant piece of card, paints and – Mickey had tried to steer him away but Yev was as stubborn as his mother – glitter. When Ian had come up with idea for a 'congratulations' sign on the wall, Mickey had pictured some store bought shit. This was a whole other ball game.

“Dad!” How the fuck did a five year old sound so disgusted? “I told you that the M should be red, not yellow!”

Mickey looked down at the letter he'd just painted the wrong colour – stop the fucking press – and sighed. “No worries, Yev. Just paint over it.”

Yevgeny's face was full of disbelief as he stared at his dad. “Red and yellow make orange, dad.”

“Christ. Sorry for ruining your artistic vision, Yev.”

“I don't know what that is but I'm telling Ian that you picked on me.” Yev went back to the flower he was working on in the corner of the sign – Mickey bit back the urge to tell him it was the wrong colour – and shook his head at the stupidity of his dad. “When is Ian coming home?”

This kid loved Ian more than his own fucking father. “He'll be home any minute now, kid. I'm going to get started on dinner. You think you can handle this on your own?”

Yevgeny just glared at him, paintbrush in hand, and Mickey backed away with his hands up in surrender. Yev shook his head again and furrowed his brow in concentration. Mickey realised how fucking lucky he was – he'd rather a kid complaining about the wrong colour of a letter than a kid throwing tantrums every hour. He'd seen those kids at the school and on the playground – Mickey never realised how well behaved Yev was until he saw another kid from Yev's class throw a fit. The screaming had pierced Mickey's ears and given him an instant headache.

Mickey started pulling random things out of the fridge without paying much attention to what he was doing; Yevgeny's favourite meal was pasta – any type of pasta – and all Mickey had to do was add vegetables and a sauce and Yev would eat it. Svetlana had tried for so long to get him to enjoy eating different Russian dishes but there was something about pasta that had Yev hooked. Mickey didn't mind – it was fucking easier to cook than some cake dish with fucking herring. With the water boiling, Mickey started chopping up onions and bell peppers, furiously wiping his eyes as the onions affected him.

“Ian!” Yevgeny's voice rung through the house and Mickey smiled to himself. He listened as Ian correctly praised Yev's work on the sign before coming in behind Mickey who was slowly cooking the onions.

“Smells fucking good.” Ian commented, putting one arm around Mickey and pulling him close. Mickey turned his head and placed a kiss on Ian's temple. A feeling welled up inside him listening to Yevgeny babble to himself in the next room, seeing Ian next to him and even fucking smelling the dinner cooking – Mickey felt home. It was one word that described everything he was feeling at that exact moment. “Pasta?”

Mickey shook his head to clear his thoughts. “You fucking know it. We should start introducing him to some different foods.”

“What, from your culture?” Ian laughed at his own joke, pulling two beers out of the fridge and handing one to Mickey. Mickey left the vegetables for a moment to open it.

“Fuck you, I ain't got no culture!”

Ian snorted into his drink, coughing slightly. “Clearly.”

“I just mean...the shit I was raised on, you know?”

“So beer and weed?”

“Do you want to fucking eat tonight?” Mickey demanded, ignoring Ian's grin. He knew Ian was only winding him but he let it get to him anyway. “We didn't all have the Partridge family upbringing that you did.”

“Oh, yeah. It was really fucking great having my drug addicted mom run off leaving me and my siblings with my alcoholic father – wait, no. He's not actually my dad, though. His brother is, and he wants nothing more than a yearly Christmas card from me.” Mickey could see Ian was kidding around but there was an edge to his voice that Mickey didn't want to poke at. He backed down, mixing in a jar of sauce with the vegetables.

“Calm down, Gallagher. We're both shitty south side kids. It's not a competition.” Mickey waited a moment, hoping Ian wasn't going to take it further. He wasn't in the mood for a fucking argument. “Anyway, who needs those fuckers? Look at this fucking family we got ourselves here.”

In less than a second, Ian's face had cleared. He smiled warmly at Mickey, sitting down at the dining table as he did so. “You're right.”

“Of course I'm fucking right, now go and get that boy and tell him his dinner is ready.”

–

“Ian, what time is Mickey supposed to be bringing Mandy?” Ian pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the time. He looked back up at his work mate and smiled.

“Ten more minutes. Are you that desperate to leave, Hitomi?”

“Hey! Malik flies in at ten – I want to make sure I don't miss him.”

Ian grinned widely – it wasn't even seven yet. “I'm sure you'll be fine.”

The party – though it was a reasonably quiet one at the moment – was in full swing. Ian glanced around his living room, mostly filled with people he knew and a few faces he wasn't so sure on. They were lucky in that Mandy shared a lot of friends with Ian and Mickey – half of Ian's family were here. Ian watched as Carl was tugging a seven year old Liam towards the table full of alcohol and gave him a stern look. His phone buzzed in his hand and Ian glanced at it quickly.

_Pulling up now._

“They're here! Hide!” Ian's voice hit everyone and he almost enjoyed the identical look of sudden panic that crossed everyone's faces. Most people hid in the kitchen – separate from the living room and out of sight. Ian, Yevgeny and Grace all hid in the hallway, ready for the door to open.

“Is Aunt Mandy coming soon?” Yevgeny whispered, his little face peering up at Ian. “I want her to like my sign!”

“She's going to love it, Yevvy!” Grace whispered back, causing a look of anger to cross the young face, just as Ian heard a key turn in the lock.

“Don't call me Yevvy!” He shouted, his voice shrill. Ian didn't even think – he clasped his hand around Yev's mouth and prayed that Mickey had walked in the door first. There were footsteps – Ian could see the pair of siblings in his mind and waited until he was sure Mandy was about to see the painted sign Yevgeny had made. Another step and he nodded to Grace; holding Yev's hand tightly, the three of them jumped out and yelled.

“Surprise!”

Mandy burst into laughter, her hand over her mouth and her nose ring glinting in the light. As her eyes took in the three of them beaming at her, Mickey stood behind her, everyone else came out of the kitchen. The collective yell sent her over the edge – she would deny it later, but Ian was sure he saw tears form in her eyes. She turned and hugged Mickey tightly as someone – Ian had no idea who, it was fucking chaos for a moment – turned the music on. Ian and Grace were next and Mandy's arms were tight around his neck. She whispered a thank you into his ear.

“Aunt Mandy, did you see my sign?” Yev was bouncing up and down in front of her, desperate for her attention to be solely on him. She swooped him up and hugged him, grinning as she held him close. “I made it all myself!”

“You did not!” Mandy pretended to be shocked, pointing at the sign with her free hand. “That sign there? You made it?”

“Yes! Dad almost ruined it but I saved it!” Mandy snorted and pulled Yevgeny close for another hug again. Ian watched as Mickey shook his head and headed for a drink; Ian followed suit.

“Did she have any idea in the car?”

“None. Fucking clueless.”

“Mickey! Don't swear!” Liam was hiding behind the table and he stood up now, a look of anger on his face as he glared at Mickey. “That's bad!”

“Shit sorry – I mean sorry, Liam.” Mickey said solemnly, though his eyes were smiling. Liam stomped his feet as he headed off in search of Yev – the only person close to his age – and Mickey picked up a beer. “Fuck, I'm offending all the kids this week.”

“Hey, they're only family. Who gives a fuck?” Ian held his beer towards Mickey's and they tapped them together, sharing a quick smile before taking a swig. Lip walked towards them and Ian could almost see Mickey preparing himself. Ian nodded at his brother. “Thanks for coming, Lip.”

“Why wouldn't I?” Lip asked, reaching behind Ian for a beer. “We're all family now, right?”

“Theme of the fucking evening tonight, apparently.” Mickey muttered and walked off towards Mandy. Lip watched him go, leaning against the table as Ian did the same.

“He still doesn't like me, hey?” Lip asked, cracking open his can and taking a long sip. He let out a large burp and Ian grinned.

“He'll come round. He just gets a bad vibe from you.”

“What the fuck? From me?”

“No, from fucking Elmo. You can't blame him, really.” Ian added, watching as Mickey played with Yevgeny and Liam. He smiled warmly in their direction as Liam took off and left Mickey to follow. Yev was swept up by Fiona. “You were a dick to him.”

“A fucking year ago!”

“You're joking, right? You're always a dick to him.”

“I'm a dick to everyone.”

“Don't sound too proud.” Ian shot back, grinning at his brother.

“What the fuck is a 'bad vibe', anyway?”

–

Ever since Yevgeny had been born, Mickey would proudly say that he was the only kid Mickey loved. Playgroups and preschool – Mickey had never even liked another kid. Liam Gallagher, though, was the second cutest kid Mickey had ever met and he was really growing to love him. And he would never fucking admit that to anyone.

“Liam...” Mickey sang, pretending he couldn't see Liam hiding rather obviously under the table. He made a show of looking in the kitchen cupboards – much too small for a seven year old – before he turned and headed for the table. He poked his head down and laughed at Liam, whose face seemed frozen in a shocked face. “Got you!”

But Liam didn't laugh or smile; his face, Mickey now realised, was slowly turning red, and then shades of purple could be seen creeping into his cheeks. He was fucking choking. In another world, Mickey heard someone walk into the kitchen behind him but he was too preoccupied with dragging Liam out from under the table towards him. The voice called out and whoever it was thumped down next to Mickey. Liam made a gurgling sound and something in Mickey's brain stirred.

“Cough, Liam! Try and cough!” Liam did as he was told, using his whole body in an effort to dislodge whatever it was that was stuck. His hands went to his throat and clutched it as he desperately tried to couch. “Keep trying!”

It wasn't working, though. Mickey now realised that it was Lip who was next to him, his face full of panic. Fiona was standing behind him, her hand over her mouth as she stood frozen. Mickey turned back and felt horror rush through him; Liam's face was a deep purple now. Mickey needed to hurry the fuck up. He pulled Liam towards him roughly and turned him around. With one arm around Liam's waist, Mickey forced Liam so he was bent over, his back parallel to the ground. Before he could even think about it, Mickey used his free hand, palm first, to come between Liam's shoulder blades as hard as he could. There was a cry from Fiona as Liam's body looked limp in Mickey's arms but he kept going, thumping Liam's back. It was hard to judge the pressure but in a second, Mickey decided it was better for Liam to have a sore back than to lose consciousness and possibly die from choking.

One final blow and Mickey knew that it had worked; Liam was gasping desperately, getting his breath before he promptly burst into tears. Fiona came rushing over and collected him into her arms, holding him tight. Mickey picked up what Liam had choked on; a gob-stopper. He threw it in the bin from where he sat on the floor and took a deep breath. Lip was staring at him.

“I can't believe you just did that.”

“Fucking believe it because it happened.” Mickey shot out, adrenalin slowly leaving his body and exhaustion taking over. He glanced up and saw Ian fussing over Liam with Fiona. “The fuck was I going to do? Let him choke?”

“What is your problem with me, Milkovich?”

“Well, fucking that for starters. You say my name like it's dirt. And I think it's you who has the problem with me, or at least what my name represents.” Mickey realised that sitting on his kitchen floor wasn't exactly the best place for this conversation but he was fucking knackered and didn't really feel like moving. He lowered his voice slightly, avoiding Lip's eye. “I'm not going to hurt Ian.”

Lip was staring at him but Mickey was watching a spot on the floor with such intensity, his eyes burned. “I know.” There was a beat of silence and Mickey could see Lip twisting his hands together in his lap. “I'm sorry for being a dick. And thanks – for saving Liam.”

Mickey shrugged like it was no big fucking deal, like he went around saving the lives of kids everywhere. Their eyes met briefly and Mickey felt an understanding pass between them. It was over quickly, though; Fiona had passed Liam over to Debbie and was now coming towards Mickey with tears in her eyes. Mickey took a deep breath and braced himself for the onslaught of family, ignoring the fact that he didn't mind the way Fiona's arms embraced him or that Lip now gave him this weird half smile. Mickey pretended he didn't feel content with them all around him. He pretended he was harder than he was, but later in the dark, when everyone else had gone home and he was lying in bed next to Ian, he would allow himself a small smile.

–

_1 Day After//_

After a full day of waiting – and no further update from Dr Castillo – Svetlana and Yevgeny had turned up. Yevgeny's face was full of worry, but there was still that childish innocence about him; Ian wished he could join him in that world where things always turned out for the best. Svetlana sat down after saying a hushed hello to everyone; Fiona had left for work hours earlier and Grace only half an hour ago – it was only Mandy and Ian left waiting before they had turned up. Yev went straight to Mandy and climbed onto her lap, sitting silently and waiting with the rest of them. Ian just wanted news, regardless of what it was.

As if Ian had wished on a star, Dr Castillo rounded the corner and made a beeline for them. Ian felt his heart speed up almost instantly and everyone sat up in their seats. She was holding a clipboard in her hands and Ian fought the urge to take it and read it, though he wasn't sure he'd understand much of what was on it.

“Afternoon, everyone. I'm so sorry it's taken me this long to get to you. We wanted to be totally sure that Mickey was ready for visitors first.”

“We can see him?” Mandy asked when words failed Ian. “Now?”

Dr Castillo smiled briefly. “You can. But please, I need to explain a few things first.”

Ian slumped back into his seat, certain that it was going to be bad news, and Svetlana was watching the doctor carefully, her eyes flicking between her and Yevgeny. Yev was playing on Mandy's phone, though and oblivious to what was going on. Again, Ian wished he could join him.

“Okay, so initial tests have come back and there is definite damage to Mickey's brain.” Ian was floored immediately; he was expecting some sort of preamble but Dr Castillo was getting straight to it. “We don't know the full extent, yet. It's a complicated area, as I'm sure you can understand, and even a week from now, we still may not fully understand the extent. Mickey doesn't remember what happened to him – a nurse checks on him every half hour or so and reminds him gently of why he's in the hospital. This is normal. Mickey is unsure of the year and date but again, this is normal.”

“I don't think he remembers the date on a normal day.” Mandy remarked quietly and Dr Castillo gave her a small smile.

“We want to see how he reacts to you all – particularly you and Mandy, Ian.”

“Yevgeny is his son!” Svetlana put in hotly and the doctor smiled in her direction.

“My apologies. Of course, you can all see him. We'll send Ian and Mandy in first, and then you and your son.” Dr Castillo explained, looking around at them all. “Please understand that he is still very tired – he's awake at the moment so we'll get you in there as soon as possible. I want you to all know that he may react in anger, definitely confusion. It's as if there's a thick fog over everything you're trying to think or do – speak slowly and give him a chance to take it all in. It will be no longer than five minutes or so; you can do the same tomorrow. Any questions?”

“Is my papa gonna be okay?” Ian almost smiled at the name for Mickey – he fucking hated Yev calling him that and Svetlana was sure to insist that he did. The doctor smiled down at him, no doubt faced with questions similar to this all day.

“We're going to do our best to look after him. Ian, Mandy – would you like to follow me?”

“Thanks.” Ian grunted out, realising he hadn't spoken in awhile. They stood up and Ian became aware that his legs were shaking; Yev jumped onto Svetlana's knee and watched them go. Mandy led the way following Dr Castillo down a hallway. Ian forced one leg to move in front of the other but for some reason they were like lead, harder and harder to lift off of the floor with each step. Ian shook his head and attempted to clear his thoughts; he was about to see Mickey. Fucking finally. So why the fuck did he feel like he was walking to his own death?

Dr Castillo stopped outside a closed door and Ian felt his heart jump up into his throat. Mandy looked at her and she nodded. Mandy took Ian's hand and turned the handle, stepping into the room with Ian close behind. Dr Castillo followed quietly behind them both and shut the door, standing in front of it to watch.

Ian's first thought was that Mickey looked small, smaller than he'd ever looked. Mickey was shorter than Ian, but this was different. His whole body seemed small, like it had shrunk a few sizes in the wash. His skin was as pale as the sheets, the white cast on his arm coming up to his elbow, the skin pink at either end. Mickey had his eyes closed and Ian almost laughed; he had a bandage around his head, like Ian remembered seeing in kid's cartoons. He had no idea they did that in real life. Mandy dropped Ian's hand; he instantly wished he had Debbie or Fiona with him. He felt alone as he watched Mandy move closer to the bed, her face unreadable.

“Mickey?” Her voice was a whisper and it felt too loud in the small room; Ian realised that there were beeps filling the room from the various machines and he wondered how he'd missed it when he walked in. Something fluttered in Ian's stomach as Mickey's eyes opened, locking on to Mandy almost immediately.

“Mandy?” His voice broke and he coughed slightly, wincing as he did so; Ian wanted to dissolve into a puddle of tears at the sight of it. He looked so much younger. “What am I doing in here?”

He didn't sound upset – it was almost a casual bewilderment that had settled on his face as Mickey glanced at the machines next to the bed. “You had an accident at work, silly. You're in the hospital so they can look after you.”

“I feel okay, though. I have the worst fucking headache, though.” Mickey stated bluntly and both Ian and Mandy let out a short laugh. Finally, after what felt like a fucking eternity, Mickey's eyes found Ian's. That deep pool of blue that Ian loved to get lost in. Ian went to the other side of the bed straight away, his face softening. He opened his mouth to speak but Mickey beat him to it. “New boyfriend, Mandy? I thought you and Grace were still together?”

Shock. That was all Ian felt. It took over every other sense. He took a step back as Mandy glanced over at the doctor, to Ian and then back to Mickey. There was a strange look on Mandy's face. “No, silly.” Why was she calling him silly? She never called him silly. “This is Ian. Your boyfriend.”

The look that formed on Mickey's face couldn't be described as anything other than disgust and it made Ian want to throw up. Mickey's eyes were darting nervously between Ian and the doctor still standing by the door; Ian recognised the panic immediately but he wished he didn't. Mickey glared darkly, his eyebrows knotted together. “What the fuck, Mandy? I'm not some fucking faggot.”

“Ian, come with me.” Dr Castillo was at his side and had one hand firmly on his arm, guiding him away from the bed swiftly before he even had a chance to think. “Mandy, keep it light. I'll tap on the door when the next two will be on their way in.”

Ian had no choice but to follow her out. He didn't look back at Mickey, he didn't want to. Ian was afraid of what he'd see there. Hatred? Anger? More disgust? He'd recognised the all too familiar panic; he hadn't known Mickey before he'd come out, but he could only guess what it would have been like to grow up gay in the Milkovich household. When Mandy had introduced Ian as Mickey's boyfriend, all Ian could see was the panic that someone would find out who he truly was.

But, of course, that wasn't what had upset him the most. Mickey had no clue who the fuck he was.

“I know that was upsetting.” Dr Castillo started as they stood in the hallway, away from Mickey's room. “It's hard not to let it hurt you, but know that we are in the very early days.”

Ian nodded tightly and turned on his heel, heading in the direction of the waiting room. He didn't want to hear any more, he didn't want to be so close to Mickey. Svetlana and Yevgeny stood watching him but he kept on walking. He heard Dr Castillo speaking to Svetlana; knew that they would go in and see Mickey next. Would he know who they were? Of course he would know his own son. He would know Svetlana. They had been in his life a lot longer than Ian had.

The lift down to the ground floor took forever, stopping at almost every level to pick people up or let others off. A couple got in with wide smile and Ian listened to them talk about their daughter who'd just given birth and wasn't their new grandson beautiful? Ian tuned them out. His hands were beginning to sweat; it was forming at the top of his spine, too, and slowly trickling down. He could feel his heart was beating a lot faster than he wanted it to; the numbers were counting down and then finally the doors opened. Ian pushed past the new grandparents, ignoring their protests, and made for the exit. The late afternoon sun was still bright in the sky and as Ian pushed open the door, he felt it all hit him.

Tears were running down his face before he even knew what was happening. A woman walked past him and unabashedly stared but Ian ignored her; his mind was on getting to his car so he could break down properly. The road was blurry in front of him as he crossed it, another step away from the hospital, away from Mickey, away from it all. A horn honked but Ian didn't know where it was coming from. Maybe if he got hit by a car, this would all go away. His walk got faster now and he was running before he even realised what he was doing. The car park was several floors high and Ian couldn't stand another ride in the lift, couldn't handle the wait. His feet pounded the steps as he ascended them, the burn in his legs did nothing to quell the pain that was slowly starting to eat at him. Why the fuck did he park so high up?

His car was just feet in front of him; Ian fumbled for his keys and unlocked the car. As if someone had picked him up and tossed him, he fell into his car and slammed the door shut. A harsh sob cut through him, straight down the middle, and he was cracked open. He wasn't even crying properly; tears were streaming from his eyes, his shirt catching them all, but the only sound was a sob of despair that filled the car. Ian slammed his fist into the steering wheel, punching it over and over until his hand ached and he was grateful for something to take his mind off the pain he was feeling inside. It didn't matter that it was early days, it didn't matter that Mickey was forgetting things every half hour. He remembered Mandy. Why the fuck didn't he remember Ian?

 

 

Dizziness was hitting him now; he needed to breathe but it wasn't easy when all he could think of was Mickey's face, his face full of hate towards Ian. Five years. Five fucking years. You don't forget five years. Ian ignored the memories that tried to resurface; he didn't want to remember anything right now. He wanted it all to go away. Slowly, somehow, he forced a breath in and then out, waiting to feel less light headed. His phone was ringing in his back pocket but he ignored it; it would most likely be Mandy and he didn't want to hear any more, he didn't want to hear it. He was afraid that Mickey would remember Yev perfectly, Svetlana, too. Why not him? Why not Ian? They'd shared so fucking much – why was he blocked out?

The tears were slowing. Ian wasn't sure how; maybe he had none left. The top half of his shirt was soaked with his own tears and it clung to his chest uncomfortably. Sweat covered his skin and Ian could feel the panic bubbling under the surface, threatening to boil over. He forced another breath in, another out. It was working and he could feel the dizziness disappearing. He wanted to get home now. He wanted to lie in bed and wake up, have it all be a dream. Ian used the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face, letting out a long breath as he did so. It didn't take long for one thought to creep back up and bother him softly as he started the car.

Mickey didn't know who he was.


	9. Willing To Fall Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I called to say, can you live with my mistakes?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that contains violence - just as a warning to those of you who may be triggered. Surprise, surprise - Terry is involved. Homophobic language, also.

_2 Days After//_

Ian had gone to bed the moment he'd gotten home after seeing Mickey. There was no other option for him. He'd considered getting drunk but he knew it would only numb the pain for so long; a hangover at the hospital would probably not be a good idea. Instead, he'd forced an old slice of cold pizza into his mouth and downed a glass of water. Mickey's shirts were always too short on him but Ian had shoved one on anyway; it smelled of him and that was exactly what he wanted. He'd shut the curtains, blocking out most of the low afternoon light, turned his phone on silent and climbed into bed. Tears had hit him the moment he did but he'd let them fall.

Now, the morning light was once again forcing it's way in when it wasn't wanted. To make it worse, it was a Saturday, days which were usually spent doing sweet fuck all with Mickey. There was a body in the bed next to him and Ian remembered holding it close in the night, only to have Mandy's soft voice whisper back to him. He'd thought it was Mickey and it was a shock all over again to remember why Mandy was in his bed. She'd come in not long after he'd arrived home himself but she wasn't stupid; she didn't try and talk. She stayed away for awhile – Ian had been able to hear the television on – and then came into bed with him, kissing his forehead gently as she did so. It had broken him all over again.

Ian rolled over away from Mandy, seeing his phone flashing with notifications. It was something he wasn't looking forward to dealing with, seeing as he'd ignored his phone since yesterday afternoon. There was nothing to say he had to read them now. It was still only seven in the morning; there was no reason to rush to the hospital, he thought bitterly. Ian pulled the covers up and over his head, shutting out the majority of the light and letting a numbness wash over him. It didn't work, though. Mandy was awake.

“He remembered Svetlana and Yev, but he remembered Yev being younger.” It was like she had hit him. Ian had no tears left, though; nothing came. He was empty. “He's still really confused, Ian.”

“He remembered everyone but me, Mandy.”

“I know, but -”

“But nothing. He doesn't know who I am.”

It was silent for a moment and Ian could almost hear Mandy trying to think to what to say next. He pulled the blanket back off his head and sighed deeply as she finally spoke. “He's still in there.”

“How can you know that?”

“He's my brother. I know him better than you do.” Ian made to argue but then shut up. She was right. “It's still early days, okay? We don't know what is going to happen yet. Don't do this to yourself.”

“You sound like Dr Castillo.”

“She may or may not have told me to talk to you. She's right though, Ian.” Mandy reasoned, sitting up in bed and stretched her long limbs out. Ian was growing irritated at the kindness in her voice. “Are you going to the hospital today?”

He didn't want to but imagine if by some miracle Mickey remembered who he was? “Yes.”

“Right.” Mandy nodded tightly. “I have to go to work – I'm hoping I can organise time off for a little while but I might have to work today at least. Can you please text me with any updates?”

Ian nodded. Mandy had reminded him of his own phone that needed checking – he took a deep breath and prepared himself. Mandy headed off towards the bathroom and Ian sat up in the bed, Mickey's shirt letting out a waft of his scent. Ian picked up his phone. Thankfully, most of the missed calls were from Mandy plus one from Fiona. He had several texts from Mandy, too, all of which he deleted without really reading them. They didn't matter now. He fired off a generic text to everyone – didn't mention what had happened the day before – and plugged his phone in to charge while he got dressed.

Before he'd finished doing that, his phone was ringing. It was Debbie and as much as he wanted to ignore it, he suddenly realised he wanted to tell someone what had happened with Mickey, and after Mandy, he was closest to Debbie. Sitting down on the unmade bed with one sock on his foot and the other in his hand, Ian answered the phone.

“Thanks for ignoring all of my texts, asshole.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

“Why didn't you call me yesterday? I wanted an update.” Ian could hear the sounds of people talking in the background and knew that Debbie was getting her morning coffee at the cafe down the road from her apartment; he'd been there several times with her. There was a pregnant pause and Ian already knew that she'd spoken to Mandy. “How's Mickey doing?”

“Okay, I guess?” Ian waited for a moment, listening out with his other hear; Mandy was still in the bathroom. He lowered his voice. “We got to see him.”

“And?”

“He didn't know who I was, Debs.”

Debbie let out a breath and Ian wished he was next to her in the cafe, waiting for a hot drink and ready to talk about nothing. “Shit, Ian. It's still early days though, right?”

Ian rolled his eyes; she had definitely talked to Mandy. “It's still early days.”

“Well, lucky for you it's the weekend and I don't do shit on the weekends. I'll meet you at the hospital, okay?”

“Debs, you don't have to -”

“I can't hear you! I'll see you soon!” She hung up before he could protest further but it was pointless anyway; Ian wanted her there with him, especially if Mandy wasn't going to be there. He put his other sock on and stood up, sighing deeply. Mandy waltzed into the room with a towel in her hands and her hair damp.

“That Debbie?”

“You would know.” Ian grunted, not entirely sure why he was taking his shitty mood out on her.

“Look, Ian. Can you cut this bullshit? Mickey is mine as much as he is yours, okay? I'm trying really hard to keep positive for you right now – which is not fucking easy – and all you can do is treat me like shit for something neither of us can control. Grow the fuck up, okay?” Mandy's eyes were flashing as she stood in front of him, waiting for him to reply. She was fucking right, of course, and Ian had no desire to keep arguing with her. It was hard to put how he felt about the day before aside but he took a breath and looked at her.

“I'm sorry.” And he meant it. This was shitty for all of them; he hadn't meant to treat her the way he had. “I'll text you with an update later, okay?”

Mandy nodded, pulling him into a hug. Ian felt a pang of emotion; she'd used Mickey's body wash and it was all Ian could smell. Doing his best to keep a small smile on his face, he walked with Mandy to the front door.

“Thanks for staying again.”

Mandy shrugged. “It was for me as much as you.” 

She left without another word, waving as she got into her car that was parked out front. Ian watched her drive away before shutting the door. The house was silent and he fucking hated it; their portable speaker was sitting on a shelf in the living room and he hooked it up to his phone, hitting shuffle on a random playlist. The Arctic Monkeys. Of fucking course.

–

Ian was getting to know the hospital better and it had only been two days. He knew that even though a sign at the front of the parking lot told him the lower floor was full, there was usually one or two parks free. He also discovered that the cafe inside the hospital did half price coffees for an hour if he managed to get there before nine. The cleaner for Mickey's floor seemed to recognise Ian now; he lifted his eyebrows in greeting and Ian returned the gesture. He briefly wondered about families who were here back and forth for months on end with terminal illnesses – the thought only made him sad.

The waiting room was empty for the first time since the accident; Iggy had replied to Ian's earlier text saying he would visit Mickey later in the afternoon. Grace was couldn't make it in and was going to visit the following day. It was Ian on his own until Debbie showed up. Ian chanced his luck and wandered down the hall to Mickey's room – there were no doctors in sight and he was tempted to go in but he settled for looking through the glass window in the door. Mickey was sleeping, thankfully – Ian wasn't sure he wanted to know how Mickey would react on seeing him again. It took every ounce of self restraint Ian had not to go in and just sit with him. Before he could, he turned and headed back towards the waiting room. His fists were clenched at his sides; tears wouldn't come. He was sure he'd used them all up the night before.

“Ian?” Dr Castillo's voice came from behind him and he whirled around, worried she would think he'd been in to see Mickey. “You okay?”

There was a warm smile on her face that Ian wanted to lean into; something about her made him want to lie down somewhere and just speak every thought he'd ever had. She would make a good counsellor, he thought absently. “I'm okay. It's Mickey that needs worrying about.”

“That's a very diplomatic answer. This affects everyone, not just Mickey.” Shit, she'd be a better counsellor than he was. “Come and sit down with me.”

They made their way back through to the waiting room. It was still empty and Ian silently wished that Mandy was sitting there waiting for them. Together they sat down on the chairs. Ian had originally found them uncomfortable but he'd been in them so much over the last few days they were beginning to grow on him, like everything else in this stupid hospital.

“I know that can't have been easy for you yesterday.” Dr Castillo began. Ian stayed silent; he wasn't sure what to say. She was right. “Brain injuries are never simple; it's a field of medicine that is constantly changing and developing, as I'm sure you can appreciate.”

Ian nodded, biting his lip slightly. His voice was slowly coming back to him. “Will his memories ever come back?”

“I cannot give an answer to that question. Like I said, these things are never simple. We will have a clearer view of how much his brain his affected over the coming weeks, but right now all we know is that there has been definite damage to his brain.” Weeks. Mickey could be in here for weeks. “I know what you're thinking and it's so hard to stay positive but you have to do just that. To be there for Mickey, you just have to keep hope that things will turn out okay.”

“Easier said than done.” Ian mumbled, picking at a loose thread on his jeans. “Do you think it's worth me seeing him again?”

“I think yes, but possibly not today. He is still unsure of why he's in here – new memories aren't being formed and retained yet. This is normal.”

“So, I could go in and he might remember me?” Ian's voice was childishly optimistic and he hated it. He felt small and vulnerable in front of Dr Castillo but he couldn't help it; he was anxious and had too many emotions swirling around inside of him. Plus, he thought bitterly, he didn't care what people thought of him at this stage.

Dr Castillo shook her head sadly. “I can't give you an answer to that. It can go either way, at this point. I don't want to give you false hope -”

“But I'm supposed to have hope that it will all be okay?”

“Please understand how difficult this is. I personally believe that hope is one of the most powerful things – at this stage, that's all you can do. I understand that you may have different views and of course that's okay – I just want you to know that at this moment, there's not much else we can tell you.”

Ian let it sink in. Hope wasn't something he wasn't good at doing. His mind cast back to his darker days when the word bipolar was just something associated with his mom; now it was his day to day life. Something that crossed his mind each morning when he took his medication. It had been a long time since he was diagnosed and he dealt with his bad days well; Mickey knew how to to deal with him when he was in a mood, too. They had a routine perfected and Ian was comfortable with it. He hadn't even thought about how Mickey's accident would affect his own mental well-being.

Dr Castillo seemed to have some idea where his head was at – though he wasn't sure how. “I am always here for questions. I don't want you to feel lost in all of this – if you're unsure about anything, come to me. Okay?”

Ian nodded. “Thank you.”

“I think it's best if you don't see him today, for both of you. Give yourself a day to relax, away from this place. Come back tomorrow and we'll see how he goes.” She stood up and gave him another one of her smiles. “Look after yourself, okay?”

Ian nodded again, watching her walk away with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Debbie would be on her way – he needed to tell her not to bother. As he pulled his phone out to message her, a pregnant belly rounded the corner, closely followed by a body that Ian recognised straight away. “Hitomi!”

Her usually tall and slender frame was swollen at every point and her belly looked like it was ready to burst. Ian felt a wave of appreciation for his friend; she was carrying three containers, all filled with different kinds of food. He stood up as she reached him with a huff and pulled him into a one armed hug. “I rung Debbie to find out where you were – I made you a few things. I figured you're probably not really bothering to cook at the moment.”

Ian accepted the containers with a smile, sitting them down on the seat he'd just vacated. “Not really, no. Thank you for this.”

“It's nothing. How is he doing?” She pushed her black bangs out of her eyes now that her hands were free and studied him carefully. Her face was full of concern. “How are you doing?”

“People keep asking me that. I'm okay. Mickey is okay, too.” It wasn't the whole truth but Ian didn't feel like going into detail. His boyfriend didn't know who he was, his brain was damaged and he may be stuck in the hospital for a number of weeks. Ian searched for something to say. “Keeping positive.”

“Uh huh. And are you looking after yourself?”

Ian rolled his eyes and Hitomi gave him a stern look. “Yes, Tomi. I am.”

“Right. Well, Malik is waiting in the car so I better go. We've got an ultrasound appointment across town.”

“All good, I hope?”

“Just a check up. So close now.” She pulled him into another hug, with both arms this time, and Ian stood awkwardly as he tried not to bump her belly. “Text me. Look after yourself.”

Ian watched her go, slumping down into the chair with a flop. His phone was buzzing and he answered it.

“I was about to call you. I'm not needed here, so I'm heading home.”

“Oh.” Debbie paused for a moment. Mandy walked around the corner and he waved at her. “I'll come over, then. Your spare key still under that rock?”

“Yeah. See you soon.” He hung up the phone and Mandy raised her eyebrows in question. “Debbie. I'm going to head home.”

“What? What's going on?”

Ian gave her a quick run down of what the doctor had told him – leaving most of the heart to heart out – and explained that he wouldn't be able to see Mickey. “You might get to see him, though, Mandy.”

“I guess.”

Ian watched her carefully, realising what she was thinking. “I don't mind, you know. If you want to stay and see him?”

Mandy's face told him he'd gotten it right. She bit her lip. “Really? If I can't see him, I'll just head home but I might try.”

He didn't want to let her know how envious he was of her; after her outburst earlier that morning, he didn't want to upset her again. He also knew that she was right. “Stay. I'm going to head home and maybe sleep.”

“You should, Ian. Rest.”

Ian rolled his eyes for the second time that day. “I'll try.”

–

_3 Years Before//_

Mickey hadn't seen his dad in a long time. He wasn't sure how long exactly because there'd been the odd time he'd run into Terry on the street – and had to outrun the old fucker – but the last time he'd lived with him was when he was eighteen. Mickey was a completely different person now to who he was back then; the biggest change being that he didn't give a fuck who knew he was gay. His dad, though, would always have a problem with it. That would never fucking change.

Keeping dirty magazines filled with naked guys under his bed had been a bad idea from the start. With the gift of hindsight, Mickey knew that he should have at least put them inside another magazine, one with the right gender of naked bodies. His dad had tipped his room upside down looking for more evidence – Mickey had been out at the time, but when he'd returned home, he'd received one of the worst beatings of his life. The only reason his dad stopped was because Iggy turned up home and pulled Terry off of him; Mickey had been certain he was going to die. Enter Svetlana and Mickey had been left wishing that his dad had killed him. It was a rough few months and he'd tried his hardest to pretend that it had worked, that she'd 'fucked the gay' out of him. But it hadn't. And Terry wasn't fucking stupid.

Mickey had taken off and hid out for a few days before Iggy had sent him a message to tell him that his dad had been arrested for violating his parole. The running joke in their family was that no one knew why Terry was in prison – it was long forgotten. He just continued to violate his parole and so got sent back to prison. Though Mickey's life hadn't been smooth sailing since then, it had certainly been a lot fucking easier without his shithead of a dad lurking around every corner. Being with Ian had helped Mickey understand that it was okay to be comfortable with who you are, and Mickey truly felt at ease at this point in his life.

Terry was about to fuck that up in true Milkovich style.

Mickey was finishing up at work; Gary had taken him out on another job and Mickey had enjoyed it. The paperwork he was asked to stay late and do – not so much. Ian had rung and mentioned something about Iggy coming round looking for him but Mickey brushed it off – if his brother really wanted to see him, he'd call. Squinting through his glasses, Mickey triple checked that every box on the form he was completing was finished. His eyes never wanted to work properly after a long day. As he shut down the computer, sighing deeply as he did with his mind on his bed, there was a thump on the office door.

Mickey waited for the computer to completely shut off before collecting his things and heading for the door. When he opened it, Iggy was standing there with an unreadable expression on his face.

“The fuck?” Iggy didn't answer but came bundling in, shutting the door behind him. “Iggy, what the fuck, man?!”

“Dad's back.” Two words but they left Mickey floored. He only stared and waited for Iggy to elaborate, unable to formulate a reply just yet. “He's looking for you. He doesn't know I'm in contact with you – I played some bullshit about not having anything to do with you.”

“Does he know where Mandy is?”

“No.” Iggy shook his head roughly, looking every bit as panicked as Mickey felt. Mickey and Mandy had always been affected the most by their dad; Mandy in ways that Mickey couldn't even imagine. She was happy now, and he did not want that ruined. She'd managed to get a job in a hospital and was studying to become a registered nurse. Terry didn't deserve to know who she was any more. Plus, Mickey thought suddenly, Terry had no idea that since she'd moved out, Mandy had had relationships with girls; he'd lose his fucking shit if he knew. “Didn't even mention her. It's you that he wants, Mick.”

“Where is he now?” There was an odd feeling settling in on Mickey; he couldn't quite describe it. There was definite fear mixed in there, but something else. “Is he at home?”

Home. It hadn't been his home for a very long time, maybe not even since his mom died. Iggy nodded, not commenting on Mickey's choice of words. “You can't go there. He'll kill you, Mick.”

“Does he know where I am?”

“No clue. I was worried he'd follow me but I think we're safe. He doesn't talk to Gary any more, anyway.” Iggy looked genuinely concerned for Mickey. The brothers had never been overly close – out of all of his siblings, Mandy had been the one he'd always turned to and vice versa. Iggy had always been the one to talk Mickey into doing shit he probably shouldn't do. They didn't have the closest relationship and only spoke every now and then but Mickey appreciated what Iggy was doing more than he could say.

“Okay. Go home. I'll be fine.”

“Wait – what? Mickey – you can't go over there!” But Mickey had already made up his mind and opened the door to leave, gesturing for Iggy to do the same. “Mickey!”

“What am I gonna do, Ig? Sit around and wait for him to bust my ass? I don't fucking think so. He got me once before but I fucking owe him one now.” Iggy didn't move and Mickey threw him a look. “Get the fuck out so I can lock up!”

Iggy had protested all the way to Mickey's car but in the end there was nothing he could say to change Mickey's mind. He wasn't backing down. He'd always regretted not coming out to his dad – he'd never felt like the opportunity was there, and when his dad had found out all on his own, Mickey had been disappointed in himself for not having the fucking guts to tell him before that. Not that Terry's reaction would have been any different – Mickey knew his dad would have hated him whatever way he'd told him. In truth, Terry had always hated Mickey. He resembled his mom too much. 

Mickey and Iggy had agreed – Mickey somewhat reluctantly – that he would text Iggy to let him know he was alive at the end of it. Iggy had mentioned having the number of their dad's parole officer and Mickey knew what he was thinking.

It had been awhile since Mickey had been back to the south side. It wasn't somewhere he liked to visit and he'd only pass through it if he really had to, which wasn't often. It didn't look any different to how it had looked growing up, only now he was more aware of how fucking shit it was. Passing shops he used to rob or the bar his dad would get pissed in – it didn't look any fucking different. Though his mind was on his dad, Mickey was vaguely aware that it made him sad. Sad that this was his upbringing, this shitty part of Chicago. Anger towards his dad was building up; it was easy to blame it on him and leave his mom out of it, but they both grew up here. It was a vicious fucking cycle, and one that he was desperately trying to break as Yevgeny grew up.

Mickey didn't park directly out front of his childhood home; a light was on inside and as far as he knew, Terry was the only one who lived there at the moment. The house had always been a halfway home for random drunks that Terry knew or drug dealers that his dad wanted to do business with. There was always someone living there who wasn't a Milkovich. Mickey didn't want his dad to see him coming, and he wasn't keen on his dad knowing what kind of car he drove, either. He wouldn't put it past his dad to go to any lengths he could to fuck Mickey up.

Mickey's phone was ringing in his pocket and he already knew who it would be. Mandy. Iggy no doubt contacted her but Mickey ignored it. He took a deep breath, his hand on the door handle of the car door, when she text him.

_Get your fucking ass away from that fucking house. Are you fucking insane? I'm telling Ian. Don't you fucking dare!_

Of course she would, Mickey thought angrily. He had no choice but to ignore it. He wasn't about to turn back. Shoving his phone onto the floor of his car, Mickey climbed out and forced his legs to move one in front of the other towards the house. There wasn't much noise coming from inside – a low murmuring and Mickey hoped to fuck that no one else was in there. He didn't want to be outnumbered. The house itself didn't look much different, only older and like it was about to fucking fall over. Mickey considered knocking but thought better of it. Best to get it fucking over with.

The door banged on the wall as Mickey flung it open, puffing himself up and hoping he looked even a little bit intimidating. His dad looked up from his spot on the couch, a credit card of some type in his hand and white powder on the table, along with a number of different drugs Mickey couldn't even name. There was a moment where they both just looked at each other; he looked old. It was the first thing that crossed Mickey's mind and it made sense, because how long had Terry been doing this shit? In and out of prison, excessive drugs and alcohol – his body would only hold up for so long, surely. The source of the sound became clear – the TV was playing although Mickey wasn't sure his dad was watching it. A commercial was telling him all about a brand new vacuum cleaner.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Even Terry's voice sounded older, Mickey thought. He spat his words at Mickey but he still didn't move from the couch. Iggy had said Terry was 'after' him; why the fuck was he not at Mickey's throat already? He had expected his dad to come at him all guns blazing.

“I heard you were looking for me.” 

“Yeah, I was fucking looking for you. Wanted to know if you were still a fucking faggot.”

There it is. Mickey allowed a grin to cross his face, hoping like fuck it didn't betray any of the fear he was feeling. “Yeah, daddy. I'm living with a guy now. We fuck every night -”

“You fucking piece of shit. You think you're fucking funny?” Terry threw the card in his hand onto the table; for the first time, Mickey noticed the gun on the floor under the table. A large jolt of fear ran through him but he ignored it. He hadn't realised how much he'd been waiting for this.

“I'm not being fucking funny. I'm fucking gay and there ain't shit you can do about it.”

“We'll fucking see about that.” And he was up. Mickey could already tell old age was getting to him; it took him that much longer to reach Mickey and in that time, Mickey was fucking ready.

Terry raised his fist and started to bring it down towards Mickey's face but Mickey was younger, he saw it coming and ducked. All of Terry's energy went into punching thin air and he stumbled forward; Mickey took his chance and kicked his leg out hard. It connected with Terry's side and the older man fell down, rage filling his face.

“You fucking little shit! You treat your fucking father like that?” Despite his slow start, something had awoken within Terry and now Mickey was second-guessing his decision to come here. Terry landed a punch to Mickey's temple and he landed on the floor, his vision blurring for a moment as he tried to get his focus back. Terry was yanking at his arms roughly, attempting to haul him back up. “Fucking stand up and fight me like a man, pussy!”

Mickey saw it coming before it hit him; another punch, this time to his jaw. He didn't fall down but he stumbled and that was all Terry needed to yank Mickey towards him and land another punch. Mickey moved at the last second, though, and the fist connected with his shoulder instead of his face. Mickey was aware that his dad wouldn't stop this time. This wasn't like the last time he'd beat the shit out of Mickey; there was no 'fucking the gay' out of him. His dad would kill him given the chance. He was certainly capable. Mickey hadn't even had the guts to call Ian before he came – he hadn't wanted to give Ian a chance to change his mind – and if Terry had his way, Mickey would never get to explain why he needed to do this, why he had to confront his dad.

Mickey had fallen again; there was a roaring in his ears and he knew he needed to stop getting fucking hit in the head or he would be out to it in a matter of moments. Terry was yelling – more homophobic slurs than Mickey had heard in his whole life – and coming at him with his fist raised again. He was strong, but he was thick as shit; Mickey could see what he was going to do before he did it. Instead of letting Terry land his fist on Mickey's skull, Mickey rolled out of the way and let Terry tumble to the floor. All of his energy redirected into smacking his head on the floor as he did so. His old age did nothing to help him; he didn't recover as fast as Mickey did and Mickey took his chance.

As Terry lay on the floor slightly dazed and attempting to gain his sense of balance, Mickey got in close to his face and spat. He enunciated each word with as much hate towards his father that he could muster. “I'm gay, you old fuck. I fuck my boyfriend every night and I fucking love it. I take it and he gives it to me good and hard and I fucking love it.” 

Terry was struggling to speak his rage but Mickey could see it written all over his face. Mickey took a step back as Terry slowly stood up, staggering on the spot and staring at Mickey. “You're no son of mine, you fucking pole-smoking queer faggot bitch.”

Mickey let out a loud, harsh laugh. “Bitch, I've never been your son. You're nothing to me.”

Terry stumbled forward with his fist out but Mickey stepped out of the way easily. “I'm going to fucking kill you!”

“Really?” Mickey ran his thumb over his lip and tasted blood; his head was pounding and he knew he was going to fucking cop shit from Ian. He ignored the pain and watched as his dad turned around, ready to come at him again. “I just want you to know one thing, dad. You fathered this queer faggot standing in front of you right now; if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be able to suck dick. So thank you. And just remember – your pussy son beat you. I fucking beat you, bitch.”

It was a moment that felt like it needed it's own intense theme music; Mickey swung his arm forward, fist clenched, as hard as he could and felt the pain reverberate up his arm as it connected with Terry's head. In perfect slow motion Mickey saw him fall and knew he'd knocked him out. It was a powerful moment and Mickey took a second to fully take in what he'd done. His dad had been an overbearing presence throughout his entire life; even now, when he was happy with Ian, Mickey would occasionally look over his shoulder, expecting a fist.

Mickey suddenly realised that Iggy would be waiting for his text. He wasn't sure how long he'd been in the house but either way, he didn't want Iggy to panic. Mickey took one last look at the dump he'd grown up in before looking down at Terry, his limp body on the floor. Without a look back, Mickey stepped over his dad and left the house.

Several missed calls from Ian told Mickey that Mandy was true to her word. He wasn't looking forward to how Ian would react – especially when he saw Mickey's bloodied and bruised face – but at the same time, he wanted to get home and tell him that he'd finally fucking beaten Terry, that he wasn't scared, that he felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Iggy had called Terry's parole officer and got word that Terry was going to be arrested again, but this time for a longer sentence. The litter of drugs Mickey had seen were enough to send him away for good and it was just another thing to add to the bounce in Mickey's step as he walked up to his front door. The pain hadn't arrived yet. He was sure he had a bruised – if not broken – rib or two, and his head was sure to be pounding in the morning. Right now, though, he just wanted to see Ian.

Mickey hadn't even opened the door properly and Ian was on him. With a loud – and painful – grunt from Mickey, Ian pulled him close and held him tightly. Mickey allowed himself a small smile because he'd never felt more sure that this was what he wanted. That feeling was short lived. Despite his clearly bruised body, Ian pulled away and shoved Mickey hard, his face filled with anger.

“What the fuck, Gallagher?!”

“Seriously? You're fucking asking me? What the fuck were you thinking, Mick? Going to find your dad? I thought he'd fucking killed you! If it wasn't for Iggy calling me and telling me you were alive, I would have fucking come over there myself!” Mickey pushed past Ian roughly and headed for the kitchen, hoping like fuck they had beer in the house. Ian followed, bringing his anger with him. “Don't fucking walk away! I can't believe you did that!”

“Look, I'm fine, okay?”

“Is that a fucking joke? Your face is covered in blood and you're holding your side like you're about to fall to fucking pieces.”

Mickey wrenched the fridge open and saw with relief that there was a six pack of beer sitting there. He pulled it out, ignoring Ian's eyes boring into the back of his head, and cracked open a can. Only when he'd downed half of it, burped loudly and sat down at the kitchen table did he speak. “I'm sorry I don't tell you every little thing I do, Ian but -”

“Don't you fucking dare. You weren't popping out to buy bread or some shit, Mickey. You went to your dad's house – who, might I fucking add, beat you almost to the point of killing you last time.”

“You don't need to remind me.” Mickey muttered through gritted teeth, tipping the last of the can into his mouth. The beer was doing what he wanted it to; the pain that was slowly starting to come on was already being numbed slightly. He cracked open another can. “I had shit to finish with him.”

“This isn't some fucking action movie. He could have killed you.” Though Ian's voice was raised, Mickey heard the worry in it. He glanced up to finally look at Ian properly and was hit in the face with emotion. Guilt started to filter through the adrenalin he'd felt after the fight with his dad. Ian was fucking right and he hated it.

“Will you sit the fuck down instead of standing over me like that?” Mickey barked and Ian complied, still glaring at Mickey. “I am sorry, Ian, that I didn't tell you. I am. I had to do this though.”

“Tell me why.”

“Jesus christ, Ian.”

“You fucking owe me that, Mick. Tell me why you had to go there.”

Mickey sighed deeply, staring into his beer can as if it held the answers. “I never fucking stood up for myself. Ever. I let him beat me and I let him call Svetlana. I let him treat me like that. I didn't want him to die thinking he'd beat me, that I was ashamed of who I am, because I'm fucking not. I wanted him to fucking know that he doesn't fucking own me.” Ian's face was softening; the emotion in the room was running high. Ian reached out and put one hand over Mickey's slightly bloodied one. “I should have told you.”

Ian shook his head. “It's okay. I get it. I'm just glad you didn't fucking die.”

Mickey chanced a small grin, lifting his eyes to meet Ian's. “As if, Gallagher.”

“Should we be expecting an angry visit from him, then?”

“No, Iggy made sure that he got arrested for violating his parole.” Mickey paused as he finished the last of his second can. Something else was niggling at him, pushing forward to the front of his mind. Ian raised his eyebrows; he could fucking tell what Mickey was thinking before he even realised it himself. “I don't wanna be like him, man.”

“You're not like him!”

“But what if I turn out like him?” Even as he said it, it sounded ridiculous. He'd never felt love from his dad, not once. Mickey always did his best to show Yevgeny that he mattered, that he was wanted. 

“Mickey, look at me. You're a fucking idiot.” Mickey opened his mouth to retort but Ian gave him a look. “Do you think Terry ever sat down and got upset at how he treated you? Look at you. You're not your fucking dad.”

Mickey felt a lump in his throat that wouldn't go the fuck away; he hoped that Ian knew how grateful he was because there'd been so much emotion over the course of the night that he didn't think he could handle any more. Ian understood, though. He always fucking understood and sometimes it brought Mickey to the point of coming undone. What the fuck had he done in his life to deserve someone like Ian?


	10. (But I Always Want To)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I've tried to ignore it every time you phone, but I never come close."

_1 Week After//_

Spring had always been Ian's favourite season. And not because of the cliché of 'new beginnings' – it was purely because it wasn't too cold or too hot. It was a comfortable season and he'd always been happy in spring. He met Mickey in spring, which only added to it for Ian. He was no longer sure, though, how much he loved spring. Although he tried not to dwell on it, Ian worried that spring would now hold memories of the accident and Mickey having no idea who Ian was. It wasn't an easy thought.

It had been just under a week since Ian had first seen Mickey. A week since he'd locked eyes with that brilliant blue that he'd fallen in love with five years ago. A week since he'd seen that smile that lit up his life so perfectly, dragged him out of his bad habits and unhappiness. A week and he was slowly falling more and more into despair. Ian had been taking his meds – Fiona and Debbie had also been on his ass making sure he was doing so – but he knew that the whole situation with Mickey would affect him eventually. He'd been in and out of work all week. Thankfully, his boss was understanding and let him work half days when he needed to; he felt drained and wanted to sleep more than usual, but he was trying not to overdo it. He didn't want to slip into a low that would swallow him whole, especially without Mickey by his side. Ian hated how much he relied on Mickey but there was nothing he could do about it.

Mandy stayed over the first few nights and he'd appreciated it, but it was hard for him to be around her. She visited Mickey almost everyday and he could tell she wanted to talk about it with him; to start with, he did want to. He found out that Mickey thought he'd only come out to Mandy – he still had no recollection of his relationship with Ian or being openly gay. Apparently he'd even mentioned an old fuck buddy who would be wondering where he was. Ian had acted like he was okay in front of Mandy but it was slowly breaking him that Mickey was getting back every part of his life except for Ian. Debbie had visited – she'd been incredibly close to Mickey and Ian was sure that she might trigger a memory of Ian. They looked similar, after all. Mickey had had no clue as to who she was. After that, the only people who had visited Mickey were family. Ian felt like an outsider.

He'd continued to visit the hospital, though. Everyday. Whether he was there all day or for only a few hours, he was there. Dr Castillo had asked him each day if he wanted to try his luck, go in and see Mickey. So far Ian had declined. He wasn't ready to see that hatred in Mickey's eyes again, and he'd rather Mickey was in a better frame of mind before they tried to jog his memories of Ian some more. It was a little disheartening to see Svetlana and Yevgeny going in to see him, Yev carrying pictures he'd drawn or something he'd made at school and coming out with a smile on his face. Mandy had told Ian that Mickey hadn't remembered Yevgeny being so old – he had memories of him being a lot younger. It gave Ian a small flicker of hope that maybe one day, Mickey might remember Ian. Maybe remember him in their early days, before they were seriously dating. The nervous dates and first kisses. Ian's fingers were constantly crossed for good luck.

Ian had no choice but to miss work and go into the hospital today, though. They were meeting with the neurologist working with Mickey. It was going to be a big meeting, according to Dr Castillo; Mandy and Iggy would both be there. Svetlana was trying to find someone to look after Yev so that she could be there. Debbie had gotten stuck at work at the last minute and wouldn't be able to make it but minutes after hanging up with her, Ian had gotten a call from Lip saying that he would be there. Ian was grateful for the support he was getting from his family – ironically, he was getting more support now than when he had originally been diagnosed with bipolar. It was better late than never, but it was hard not to feel smothered with it all. Ian felt like he had no space to think about Mickey and what may or may not be coming.

The hospital was like his second home, now. If he'd thought he'd known his way around it before, it was nothing to how he knew it now. He was sure that if someone blindfolded him, he'd find his way around without bumping into anything. Leaning against the wall in the lift as it rose higher and higher, Ian wondered briefly what the meeting would be covering. Dr Castillo had been vague; she'd mentioned long term care but had been quiet about whatever else they would discuss. She had mentioned, much to Mandy's initial disgust, that Dr Gray would be there, along with a medical intern or two. Ian counted to three in his head and looked at the lights to indicate what floor they were on; as he hit three in his head, the lift stopped and the doors opened. Ian rolled his eyes heavily.

It seems he was the last to arrive. Everyone else was sitting down waiting, excluding Svetlana who – according to Mandy – wasn't able to find anyone to watch Yevgeny. Ian sat down next to Lip, lifting his head in greeting to everyone. Iggy stood up and came to sit on the other side of Ian and looked at him seriously.

“Ian, I just wanted you to know that Mickey's business is doing well. Grace and I are working together and things are running smoothly.”

Ian tried to smile; his stomach was twisted into knots, so filled with nerves that Ian thought he might be sick. “Thanks, Iggy. I really appreciate it.”

Grace caught his eye and smiled. He'd spoken to her earlier in the week and she'd told Ian how surprised how she'd been when Iggy had taken to the job so well. Ian was glad it was one less thing for him to worry about, and for Mickey to worry about. Not that he even knew he had his own contracting business, Ian thought bitterly. Iggy sat back, clearly pleased with himself. They were silent for a little while, waiting patiently for Dr Castillo to appear. For some reason, the morning of the accident popped into Ian's head and with it came the realisation that he'd missed Grace's party.

“Grace – I just remembered. Your party was over the weekend – I totally forgot.” Grace smiled sadly at him as he spoke; he felt awful.

“I know. I didn't think you'd want to go without Mickey.”

She was totally right and it made him sad to think about it. He pushed the thought aside and hoped that he sounded sincere. “I'm sorry.”

“It's not a big deal, Ian, honestly. It wasn't a birthday or anything important.” Ian felt like she was upset he wasn't there, though; there was something in her face. He wished he'd made more of an effort and gone – if he'd remembered.

“It wasn't a big night, Ian.” Mandy put in, but it only served to make Ian feel worse. How many more things would happen while Mickey was in the hospital? Five years of attending birthday and engagement parties, even a baby shower or two – what was he going to do without Mickey? Ian would drag him to work parties and hold his hand, involving him in conversations and enjoying it when his colleagues would talk to Mickey. On the other hand, Mickey loved to take Ian to random bars across the city where they would get drunk and end up fucking in the bathroom. That was usually how all date nights ended, Ian thought with an inward smirk. He didn't want to go to parties on his own. He didn't want to go to a random bar and drink without Mickey in the booth next to him, cracking a dick joke and making eyes at Ian.

“I would have come.” Ian said quietly, hating how silly he sounded. Grace and Mandy were looking at him with such pity he wanted to leave. This was affecting them, too, surely? Mandy was Mickey's sister – she'd said herself that it wasn't just about him, that he should try to think about others. Yet, he thought in annoyance, he was the one they all seemed to be looking out for, walking on eggshells around. It annoyed the fuck out of him. “I wish you'd reminded me.”

“Sorry, Ian.” Even the way they said his name shit him off. Grace meant well – he could see it in her face, despite the fact that she'd clearly missed him at the party. He didn't want to take the conversation further, though. It only brought up further thoughts of a life without Mickey and that was a path he was not willing to venture down. He tried to smile at her and hoped that it would be enough.

Ian held his breath as Dr Castillo suddenly rounded the corner with a folder in her hands, making her way towards them.

“Morning, everyone. Follow me.” She turned on her heel and started back the way she came, but this time with a trail of people following her, each face a different shade of nerves. Ian hung at the back, nervous for what was to come.

Dr Castillo led them past Mickey's room – Ian peered in but the blinds were shut and he felt a pang of disappointment at not even being able to glimpse the reason they were all there. The hallway opened out into a wider space with several doors leading off to what Ian realised were offices. Dr Castillo opened the door into a meeting room and they all filed in, sitting down around the large table. There was a jug of water and several cups on the table; Ian watched as Iggy studied the water before picking up a cup and pouring himself some. He then peered around the room as if they were all in an art museum waiting for someone to explain a particular piece to them. Grace caught his eye again and rolled her eyes towards Iggy; Ian grinned. His face muscles felt tight, unused.

Dr Gray walked in – Mandy made a small noise of disgust under her breath and Ian snorted to himself – and took a seat next to Dr Castillo. He looked around at them all, his eyes landing on Mandy and Ian was sure he saw Dr Gray roll his eyes. Two more doctors – Ian guessed that they were the interns – and sat down at the other end of the long table. There was a moment as all the medical professionals in the room seemed to look at one another, not sure who was supposed to start. Dr Castillo gathered her papers out of her folder and looked around at them all.

“Thank you all for coming. This meeting will be the first of a few times we meet to discuss Mickey's progress and what the next steps will be. As we are still in the early days, this meeting won't be as long as the next – this is scheduled for three weeks from now, one month after the accident.”

One month. It seemed unreal to Ian; one week had gone by faster than he'd thought it would. He felt as if he could blink and be sitting here for their second meeting. It rattled him to be talking about Mickey this way; Ian wished that Mickey could be here but there was no way. Dr Castillo had mentioned that he may be able to attend the next one depending on his progress. Ian wasn't sure if he wanted to be at that one.

“So, let's get started.” Dr Castillo looked around at them all, a warm expression on her face. Ian was struck again by a maternal feeling coming from her. If he'd been in hospital, he would have loved to have her as his doctor. “We'll give our little bit on how he's doing and then we can answer any questions. Sound okay?”

Everyone nodded and Dr Castillo looked towards Dr Gray. He cleared his throat and looked around at them all, already looking bored. Ian quietly hoped Mandy wouldn't punch him in the face. “My name is Dr Gray. I'm the neurologist assigned to Mickey's case.”

“We've met you before.” Mandy shot out, her glare firmly attached to her face. Dr Gray didn't even look at her but licked his lips slowly before answering.

“Yes. I've been in this job a long time.” He started, scanning them with his gray eyes and settling on Ian who was sure he'd said the same thing the other day. “A week out from the initial injury date is still early to know how long the effects could last, or if we've even discovered the many ways in which the individual may or may not be affected.”

“Individual?” Mandy interjected, narrowing her eyes at the doctor and voicing Ian's exact thoughts. “His name is Mickey.”

“Thank you, I was already aware of his name. As I was saying,” Another glare. Ian pictured the pair of them fighting it out in the parking lot and almost let out a laugh. He forced his mind to focus on the seriousness of the situation. “We are doing tests daily. His short term memory is definitely improving; I believe he was unaware of his son's age when he first saw him? And he has successfully retained the memory of him being the age he is now.”

It was like a kick in the stomach. Ian didn't realise that Mickey had made the step forward; surely that might mean that Ian could go in and explain who he was? If Ian did it daily, maybe it would stick. Lip was looking at him as if he knew what Ian was thinking and he avoided his brother's gaze. Pity. Again.

“Basically, guys, we want you to know that we're doing all we can to work out the finer details for you. I understand this is a frustrating time and we aren't giving you a lot of solid details.” Dr Castillo was speaking again and Ian could see Mandy visibly relaxing slightly as she spoke. “Ian, I want to try sending you in again in the next week or so. I understand that it's hard for you but we want to slowly push Mickey more and more to try and bring back what he's forgetting.”

Their life. Sleeping in the same bed, making him pancakes on a Sunday morning even when he's hungover and grumpy and calling Ian names. Knowing the sound of his key in the lock. The comfort of his weight in the bed. There was so much to remember. So much he was forgetting.

“Is there anything I can do to help him remember?” Ian asked, his voice croaky. Lip was looking at him again and Ian sent his older brother a small smile in the hopes that Lip would stop looking at him as if he was about to fall apart. He hoped it wasn't that obvious.

“You can always try wearing an outfit he would know, maybe a particular smell. There's no harm in trying.” The doctor bit her lip and Ian felt nerves swoop in. She looked uncomfortable. “I have to tell you that there is always the chance he may not remember.”

“At all?” Iggy asked incredulously. Ian was grateful he didn't need to ask; his voice would have failed him. He didn't want to think about what she was suggesting. Again, more thoughts of life without Mickey were surfacing. Images mixed around before his eyes and he shut them briefly, rubbing his temple in a failing attempt to push them away.

“I'm afraid so. There are many stories of those who recover lost memories years later but there are also those who never do. I do not want you to lose hope, Ian.” Dr Castillo leaned forward onto the table, her eyes searching Ian's face, ignoring all others. “Not at all. We will keep trying. Mickey will go through various exercises and physio to build up the strength in his brain again; we will work on getting memories back.”

Ian nodded tightly, still not sure he was able to speak. Grace cut in instead, speaking for the first time in the meeting. “When do you think he'll be allowed to come home?”

Dr Castillo looked at Dr Gray, gesturing for him to answer. He scratched his head, the flecks of gray in his hair picking up the fluorescent light in the room. “At this stage, I would say three to four weeks.”

He didn't elaborate. The room was silent for a moment, save for the sound of the medical interns scribbling onto their notepads. A month. A month on his own, a month without anyone to share the house with. A month with Mickey not knowing who Ian was.

“There is also the issue of home care.” Dr Gray went on briskly, glancing at his watch. Mandy was back to glaring and Ian saw Grace put her hand on Mandy's knee, calming her slightly, if only for a moment. “Mickey will suffer from different symptoms for a long time. Headaches, fatigue, nausea. Dizziness is common. He will find it hard to complete day to day tasks; things like grocery shopping, cleaning the house will all become hard for him to do on his own. A discussion needs to start within the family and wider circle of around the clock care.”

“I understand that Mickey's insurance will cover an in-home carer for a period of time.” Dr Castillo cut in, her eyes flashing towards Dr Gray, no doubt for his lack of tact and impersonal approach. “But Dr Gray is correct; you all need to start thinking about where Mickey will stay and who will be the main carer for him.”

Everyone continued to ask questions but Ian had zoned out now. It was hard for him to picture Mickey being looked after by anyone that wasn't him. It should be Ian, it had to be Ian. The meeting had not made him feel better, only worse. Dr Castillo had spoken of holding onto hope but Ian wasn't sure if there was any point. If Mickey didn't remember him now, would he ever? An image passed through his mind of Mickey living on his own, no clue as to the five years that he was happy with Ian. Oblivious to what he had lost while Ian had to live with the memory of it all. It was a hard thought to come to terms with but for some reason, it spurred determination in Ian. He would do his best to bring Mickey's memories back. He had to.

–

_2½ Years Before//_

“Mickey, I swear to god. I love you but it's Friday and every fucking day this week you've come home with a face like thunder. I'm sick of you taking this shit out on me.” Ian almost threw the dirty pot he was attempting to clean into the sink that was full of hot, soapy water. It splashed back at him slightly and he swore under his breath. Mickey was pacing the kitchen behind him but he'd stopped and Ian glanced over his shoulder; Mickey was now glaring daggers at him.

“Thanks a-fucking-lot for the support, Ian.”

“Come the fuck on, Mickey! All I do is fucking support you! How many times have I told you to look for another fucking job?” Ian gave up on the dishes, drying his hands roughly and tossing it onto the kitchen bench. He pushed past Mickey and moved into the living room, flinging his body onto the couch. Ian heard the fridge and knew that Mickey was getting a beer. “You're the one being a drama queen about this, Mick.”

“Drama queen?!” Mickey sputtered as he came into the room and sat next to Ian, his anger filling up the couch. “A fucking drama queen? Jesus christ, we didn't all fall into perfect jobs like you, Gallagher.”

“I didn't fucking fall into a perfect job!” Ian shot back, staring at Mickey incredulously. Mickey was already looking like he regretted saying what he had. “Are you fucking kidding? I dropped out of school and got diagnosed with bipolar – how is that falling into a perfect job?”

“You know what I fucking mean.” Mickey mumbled, clearly annoyed that Ian was right. “Look, if it wasn't for my dad then I wouldn't have this job – I have no idea how to go about getting another one.”

“Are you seriously talking about your dad in a good light right now?”

“What? Fuck No!”

“Because that's what it fucking sounded like. He was an asshole. He didn't get you a job, Mick. His friend got you a job.” Ian shook his head; he was sick of Mickey defending his dad every chance that he got. It didn't matter that Mickey had sorted things between himself and Terry, and it apparently didn't matter that Terry was a homophobic piece of shit. Mickey wanted to stick up for him regardless.

“If my dad wasn't friends with Gary, I wouldn't have the job I do now. On this planet, Ian, we like to use a little thing called logic.”

“You're not even fucking kidding, are you? You're actually standing up for that piece of shit again.”

“Hey, just because you've squared shit with your dad!”

“Which one? The one I thought was my father for the majority of my childhood or his brother who didn't want to know me once I was diagnosed? Which fucking one, Mick?” It was too much for Ian; words were swirling around inside of him and he was getting confused as to what they were truly arguing about. He stood up and paced the floor for a moment.

“We are not getting into a heart to heart about our fucking dads right now.”

“Of course not. Because you don't want to delve into why the fuck you keep defending him – even though you beat the shit out of him months ago?” Ian stared at Mickey, his eyes wild. Mickey was avoiding his glare, fiddling with his hands before wiping a thumb over his bottom lip.

“Jesus christ, Ian. Not everyone gets to blurt out how they fucking feel every minute, okay?”

Ian took in a deep breath, trying to steady his breathing. Mickey was looking down at his lap and Ian felt sorry for him all at once. What were they doing? He sat down next to him and made Mickey look at him. “I'm sorry.”

“Well, that was a quick fucking turn around.”

“Shut the fuck up. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry your job sucks – tell me what your idea was before I went off the fucking chain.”

Mickey sent a quick grin his way, a childish look of nervousness playing on his face. The fight was already forgotten and Ian loved that about them. They didn't let shit build up, get worse over time. They fought it out and got it out of the way. “I want to start my own contracting business. I have the contacts through Gary – he doesn't know I've been making my own folder of information on them all.”

“You gonna come in and undercut him?”

“Calm down, Mike Tyson.” Mickey teased and Ian punched his arm lightly. He could feel the tension leaving his body, the argument getting further away. Mickey had a habit of calming him down without even meaning to. “But yes, that was my idea. Charge a little bit less and hopefully offer a better service.”

“Are you going to do it?”

Mickey bit his lip and shrugged his shoulders forcefully. Ian already knew what was fucking coming. “I don't fucking know. I haven't got the brain for it, do I?”

Ian stared at Mickey, hoping his expression portrayed how stupid he thought Mickey sounded. “Really? Are you trying to make me mad again?”

“Come on, man. I've got enough stupid shit to deal with without your stupid shit, too.”

“Mickey, how long have you been working for Gary now? He hasn't fired you. You're clearly good at your job. And working for him has given you the experience you need to branch out on your own. I'd be mad at you if you didn't try and make this work.”

“You reckon I could do it?”

“Are you really asking me that right now?” Mickey rubbed the back of his head sheepishly; he wasn't one to take compliments well but Ian could see him thinking about it. It was a good idea and with enough thought and planning, Ian knew he could do it. He moved closer, one hand behind Mickey's head, and pulled him in close. “You can do this.”

“Alright, alright.” Mickey held up his hands, backing away from Ian and yawning. “Bed?”

“To sleep or -”

“Not to sleep, Gallagher. I've got a few other ideas to help ease my stress.”

Ian's grin followed him all the way to the bedroom.


	11. A Phantom Of Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'll never grow, it's all that I know."

_2 Weeks After//_

“Little bits are coming back, Ian.” Mandy stood in the door to Ian's bedroom that he usually shared with Mickey but it had been two weeks and Ian wasn't sure when he'd share it with him again. It was hard to face anything without Mickey; Ian felt as if he was operating on auto-pilot. Work had thankfully been quiet and he'd been able to skate through without attracting much attention. When he was home, he'd spend the majority of his time in bed or on the couch. Mandy would visit often but Ian was getting tired of letting his hopes fly up only for them to fall crashing back down again. Debbie had even come over once or twice with the kids she looked after; it had worked in the beginning as it had taken his mind off of the whole situation, but then they started asking about Mickey and it only got awkward.

“Like what?” Ian mumbled, leaving his eyes closed as he lay on the bed. He resisted the urge to mutter a bitter comment about Mickey remembering everything but Ian. It was late and Mandy had text him saying she was coming over to stay. He listened as she rustled around in a drawer and he heard her changing. Chicago was slowly heating up as it got closer to summer; Ian was finding it harder to sleep at night, but then that was probably because his boyfriend didn't know who he was, rather than the weather.

“He knows he worked in contracting; owning his own business was a huge surprise.” She climbed into the bed next to him and they lay together. “I don't think he'll remember tomorrow but it came to him on his own today, so that's a good sign.”

“Anything else?” Ian didn't need to ask, really; if Mickey had suddenly sat upright in the hospital bed, asking for Ian and wanting to see him, Mandy would have been on the phone immediately. He could only hope, though.

“Grace went in for the first time.” Ian waited, his breath hitched in his throat. Out of Mickey's close friends and family, Grace was the last to visit him properly. Ian would never admit that he was hoping Mickey wouldn't remember her, either. It was pointless, really; they had known each other longer than Ian had known Mickey. “He remembered her.”

Ian let out his breath, long and slow. He gritted his teeth. “Of course he did.”

“This doesn't mean he won't remember you in the future.” Mandy said diplomatically, annoying the shit out of Ian.

“I appreciate you keeping me company, Mandy, and acting like this is all okay, but it really isn't. He doesn't know who I am and sure, hope is a great fucking idea but with everyday that he remembers some new detail or a new person, and he doesn't remember me...I don't know what the fuck to do with myself.”

They were silent. He heard Mandy sniffing quietly and he wondered if she was crying. Ian decided he didn't want to know; he was too wrapped up in how he was feeling. It was hard for him to focus on anyone else at times. He could appreciate that this was hard on all of them, but Mickey knew who they were. They didn't have to remember his eyes, the way hate splashed across his face when he looked at Ian. That wasn't an expression that was easy to forget.

“I'm sorry.” Mandy's voice made him jump, they'd stayed silent for so long. Her voice was thick and Ian instantly felt bad for letting her cry. He reached his hand across until he found hers and held it tight. “I'm really sorry. This is so fucking shit.”

“I know. I'm sorry, too.” Ian let out, afraid that he would start crying if he spoke too much. “I can't believe it's happening.”

“I just want my brother back.”

Ian felt awful. He squeezed her hand and hoped that it was enough; he didn't think he could give much more at the moment. “I know, Mandy.”

“Dr Castillo wants you to see him tomorrow.” Mandy said cautiously, sniffing a little more. Ian already knew this. He hadn't been to the hospital everyday since their first meeting with the neurologist, but he'd been in some days. Dr Castillo had taken him aside one day and talked about Ian visiting Mickey again. She'd asked him to get back to her with when he'd like to do it, and he hadn't been in since. It was a terrifying thought, that nothing had changed. “I think you should do it tomorrow, Ian. Get it over with.”

“Tomorrow?” Ian groaned loudly. Just the thought of it sent nerves swimming around in his stomach. He didn't want to. “I'm scared.”

“I know you are, but the sooner you do it, the sooner they know how where his head is at. Maybe it'll help him get better?” Ian stayed silent, quietly rolling his eyes at this idea. “If you're rolling your fucking eyes, Ian -”

“What? No!”

“You're so predictable.”

“How is it that all of the Milkoviches know me so well?” Ian demanded, enjoying the humour in his voice. It felt like forever since he'd laughed or had fun. The times over the last few weeks that he'd sat in front of the TV, the humour of each show had washed right over him. He hadn't had the energy for it. It felt good to be laughing with his best friend again.

“It says nothing about us and everything about how obvious you are, Gallagher.”

“God, you're so like your brother sometimes.” Ian teased, smiling to himself. As always, the reality of the situation came hurling back and Ian's smile disappeared. “What do you think is going to happen?”

Mandy sighed deeply and Ian could almost hear her thinking, trying to figure out how to answer him. “To Mickey? Shit, I have no idea, Ian. In a perfect world, he would regain his memory and things will go back to normal.”

“But we live in a far from perfect world.”

“Exactly. I think it'll take time but he'll get there. It's not going to be easy.” Mandy spoke carefully and he wondered if she was choosing her words so that she wouldn't upset him. Ian mentally added it to the list of things people seemed to be doing since the accident, including treating him as if he was about to crack into tiny pieces. “We just have to keep -”

“Hoping, I know. This is like a scene from the fucking Shawshank Redemption.”

“Will you come with me tomorrow and see him? I have a day off. I'll come in with you, if you like.”

Ian squeezed her hand again, feeling tears pricking at his eyes. Sleep was coming closer and he felt more comfortable now than he had in the bed on his own. He knew he should lean on Mandy more often, if not for anything other than the comfort of knowing she was there. “Thank you.”

–

It was morning before he knew it and Ian found himself in Mandy's car wishing he could tuck and roll the fuck out of there. He wasn't sure why he'd agreed to go in the same car – at least if he'd been in his own, he could leave whenever he wanted or flat out turn around and stay well away from the hospital altogether. Now he was stuck. With every mile they drove, Ian felt his nerves creep up closer and closer to the surface. He wasn't sure what to expect; he wanted to hope for change, that Mickey would see him and his face would light up. And although getting his hopes up was probably not a good idea, he didn't want to go in knowing it would be shit. 

They pulled up to a set of traffic lights and stopped, both staring into the passing traffic ahead. Ian instantly thought of Mickey and how hard his face would get in traffic. Ian smirked to himself; Mickey was like a grumpy old man in the body of a young – and more than a little bit good looking – man. Mandy turned to him and gave him a reassuring smile as the light turned green and they moved forward again. Ian jumped as a motorbike whizzed past them and through the cars in front of him; his nerves were frayed and he felt jittery.

“What if he still doesn't know who I am?”

It was something Ian had asked himself over and over again ever since he'd first seen Mickey after the accident. The thought popped up randomly when he was brushing his teeth or getting dressed, bugging him and causing him to think about things he didn't really want to think about. It was a weird concept, someone so close to you not knowing who you were. When Ian thought about his life with Mickey, everything they'd been through already and everything still to come, one of them suffering from memory loss hadn't been on the cards at all.

Mandy was sighing deeply and didn't answer straight away. What could she say, really? Ian tried to imagine the situation switched around and how he might comfort Mandy; he had no clue what he'd even say. Chin up? It'll all be okay? He didn't feel like it was all going to be okay and Ian was sure if someone came to him and said that, he'd want to punch them in the face. It was a common sentiment. When he'd first been diagnosed and dropped out of school, his friends – though he wasn't sure if they ever were friends – had been full of similar words. Get over it, you'll be fine. It had made him feel selfish for feeling whatever the fuck he'd been feeling – as if he was indulging himself by letting himself feel down. He'd slowly learnt that it was okay to feel whatever you were feeling; there isn't much to say to someone feeling like that. Ian knew if Mandy was in this position, he would just be with her and let her know that he was there. Here's hoping that's what people did with him, he thought.

“I don't know, Ian. But I'm going to be right there with you; we all are. This is fucking shitty but you're not alone.” Mandy slowed down to stop at another set of lights and turned to face him, giving him a warm smile. “I know it's fucking lame to say you have to have hope, but you fucking do.”

“It just seems so pointless, you know? Like, what use is it going to do?” Ian let out a frustrated breath of air and gestured towards the lights that had just turned green. Mandy set off again, fiddling with her seatbelt.

“What are you going to do otherwise? Sit around and feel sorry for yourself? If Mickey still doesn't know who you are today, Ian, I know it's going to suck fucking ass. But I want you to do something with it.” Mandy was biting her lip, suddenly nervous. She glanced at him before turning her eyes back to the road. “We're all worried about you.”

“Let me guess – Fiona spoke to you?”

“Of course she did. They're fucking worried about you.” She repeated, her voice full of concern.

Ian sighed again, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. When he'd been diagnosed, Lip and Fiona had been so involved in things going on in their own lives that Ian had been put on the back burner. It had taken a long time for them to truly realise what was going on and how fucked up Ian was feeling. It seems they were constantly trying to make up for that. “I know they are. I'm okay.”

“Bullshit.”

“Well of course I'm not okay!” Ian yelled suddenly, proving Mandy's point and embarrassing himself all in one. He took a breath and lowered his voice. “I'm sorry for yelling. I just...of course I'm not okay, but nobody really wants to talk about it. It's not like anyone has been through this before and can offer help – I'm stuck wading through this by myself.”

“Oh, get fucked, Gallagher! Are you kidding me right now?”

“What? No, I -”

“You think you're on your own. Okay, I get it. So I'll stop staying over? I'll tell Debbie to stop bringing the kids over to see you to try and take your mind off of things? Or how about I ask Hitomi to stop making you meals?” Ian was silent; of course she was fucking right. He was just an idiot. “We may not have been through anything like this before, Ian, but we're all here for you in whatever way you need. Don't forget that it can come from both sides – try using your fucking voice.”

The car was deathly silent as they finally arrived at the hospital. Mandy drove angrily, accelerating hard and slamming the breaks on as they went around corners and up ramps in the parking lot. When they finally found one, she sped towards it only to slam her breaks on at the last moment. Ian jolted forward and glared at her.

“I get it, okay? I'm fucking sorry.”

Mandy whirled – as much as someone can whirl when they're in a car – towards him and the glare in her eyes was Mickey all over. Ian forced his eyes to meet hers. “I know you're sorry. I'm sorry. We all wish this hadn't happened, but it fucking has. Let us help you. Talk to us. Take advantage of our support. But don't fucking say you are on your own, okay?”

Ian nodded dumbly. “I really am sorry, Mands.”

“I know you are, you big idiot. Get the fuck out of my car.”

With each step that took him closer to Mickey, Ian felt anxiety creeping up on him. First, his palms started sweating. He wiped them desperately on his jeans as they crossed the road towards the hospital. Ian glanced up at the tall building, imagining he could find Mickey's window out of the hundreds that he could see. Next his stomach began to twist into a million knots, tighter and tighter until he had actual stomach pains. The sun was beating down on them, already hot and high in the sky. Ian felt uncomfortable underneath it; his skin prickled under his shirt and he wanted to turn and leave. Mandy seemed to know what he was thinking.

“Come on, Ian. You can do this.”Her voice was firm. She took his hand and held it tight; he was more than grateful to have her as his best friend. Sometimes, he didn't deserve her. Most of the time.

The hospital was thankfully cooler than outside had been. Air conditioning softly blew down on them both from multiple directions and Ian felt slightly better. It wasn't long before that momentary relief had disappeared; he and Mandy stepped onto the lift and on any other day, it would have taken months for the lift to drag itself up to Mickey's floor. Today though, of fucking course, it was up to the third floor and he was walking towards ward seven with Mandy. 

No one else was around and Ian wasn't sure whether that made him feel better or worse. He didn't have time to think about it; Dr Castillo was coming towards them, a smile on her face.

“Ian! Mandy told me you'd be coming this morning.” Mandy avoided his eye but he wasn't mad; at this stage, he just wanted to get it over with. “Shall we take you through? Mickey is awake. He's not long had his breakfast.”

Ian took a deep breath, his hands shaking slightly so he stuffed them into his pockets. A tight nod and they were following Dr Castillo towards Mickey's room. Ian was regretting every step.

“Now, we'll let Mandy go in first and she can see how Mickey is feeling. When Mandy gives us the go ahead, we'll send you in. Just remember to keep it as light as you can.” Both Mandy and Ian nodded and Ian watched as Mandy stepped into the room. Dr Castillo was watching casually through the window but Ian couldn't; instead, he stood against the opposite wall, out of sight for Mickey.

“Should I cross my fingers?” Ian joked quietly, wanting to say something to break the weirdness of the moment. It felt like a big science experiment that he wanted nothing to do with. Dr Castillo gave him a sad smile.

“I know this isn't easy. A lot of the times, the memories are there. They're just hidden, if you will. It's hard to understand.” Her eyes flicked back to the room and she nodded quickly at Mandy through the window. “You can go in, Ian.”

He didn't want to. He wanted to turn right around and run home, hide under the covers like he used to when he was a kid. It would be the easy way out and he'd always preferred the easier option. Instead, Ian put one foot in front of the other and opened the door into Mickey's room.

Mickey was sitting up in bed, his eyes on Mandy as she spoke about something Ian couldn't really hear. His face looked the same, his arm was still in a sling. He looked no different to how he'd looked two weeks ago; it was as if no time had passed, and yet Ian felt as if it had been years since he'd seen Mickey. Ian got closer and closer to the bed, coming to stand behind Mandy as if she would protect him.

“Hi, Mick.”

Mickey lifted his eyebrows, sending a swoop in Ian's stomach, and stared for a moment. His blue eyes flicked from Ian to Mandy, confusion slowly setting in. “Do I know you?”

Fuck shit fuck. I'm your boyfriend. You're in love with me. We've been together for five fucking years. Keep it light. “I'm Ian.”

When Mickey still looked confused, Mandy took over and smiled up at Ian. It was false and bright and not Mandy at all. “You don't remember Ian?”

“No?” Mickey snorted. This was a joke to him. His sister playing a trick on him. Ian felt like he might vomit. Maybe he would.

“Well,” Ian knew what Mandy was leading up to and he almost wanted to tell her to stop, but it was too late. “You and Ian are really close. You've known each other a long time.”

Mickey stiffened, his eyes roaming over Ian's face and body before locking eyes with Ian's green ones. Distaste was creeping onto his face. Mickey knew where this was heading, surely, judging by the look on his face. “I don't remember him.”

“That's okay. Maybe you will one day.” A beat. Ian forced his feet to stay where they were, forced the dumb smile on his face to stay in place. Don't say it, Mandy. Don't say it. _Keep it light._ “You two have been together for five years.”

Well, that wasn't exactly keeping it light. Mickey's face registered shock as he looked between Mandy and Ian again. Anger. At his sister, mostly, but there was some in there for Ian, too. “What the fuck, Mandy?”

“I'm serious, Mick. You and Ian live together.” 

“I don't fucking think so.” Mickey wouldn't look at Ian, now. His eyes stayed forward, focusing on some spot on the wall opposite his bed. He suddenly winced, his hand to his head. “You're giving me a fucking headache with this bullshit. Can I go home now? This bed is fucking uncomfortable, man.”

As Mandy started to explain to Mickey that no, he couldn't go home – especially seeing as the only home he had was with someone he didn't remember – Ian decided to leave. He didn't want to stay and see the blank expression Mickey had when he looked at Ian. He didn't want to see the disgust. Ian turned and left without a look back, pushing out of the door and into the hall. Dr Castillo was there with her sad smile but he knew everything she was going to say.

“I know. His memory might come back, he might remember me one day. I just want to go home, okay?” Nevermind that he didn't have a car. He had cash; he'd catch a bus. He gave a warped smile to Dr Castillo and left. The hospital suddenly felt foreign; he wasn't sure why it felt different this time. Maybe his hopes had climbed high without him really realising it but for some reason, after this second time of seeing Mickey, Ian felt as if his world was ending.

After a short bus ride, Ian found himself at work. More specifically, the bench where Ian would often eat his lunch in the warmer months. It was situated under a large willow tree that looked like it was straight out of a romantic novel. Ian sat on the ground under the tree rather than the bench; he stretched his long limbs out and felt the warmth of the day. He was glad he was in the shade. 

His phone had been buzzing ever since he'd left the hospital. Ian hadn't bothered to look at it; it was most likely Mandy and he didn't feel like talking just yet. He leaned back against the trunk of the tree and felt the bark prickling his back. Closing his eyes just for a moment, he let his mind wander back to Mickey's reaction.

It wasn't fair. That was his first thought. It was childish and petty, but he wanted to cry and scream and stamp his feet like a toddler. It wasn't fair. Both Mickey and Ian had been through shit in their lives and Ian had finally felt like things were coming right for the both of them. They both had steady jobs, jobs they enjoyed, they weren't struggling for money and they were happy. Actually happy. Ian remembered Mickey confessing to him one drunken night that he didn't think he'd ever be happy – it had almost broken Ian's heart to hear it. They were happy and now that was gone.

Determination wasn't a foreign concept to Ian. There had been times in his life where he'd had no choice but to fight for what he wanted. This was no different. To accept that Mickey didn't know him was ridiculous; what a waste of five years. Ian didn't want to face a future without Mickey. He refused to. 

As Ian let himself get lost in his thoughts, he heard footsteps slowly coming closer. He kept his eyes closed; maybe whoever it was wouldn't bother him. Most of the students around the college knew who he was and he was always friendly with them, but right now wasn't exactly the best time. Ian heard the footsteps leave the path and start across the grass. Whoever it was was was coming towards him. Fucking great. He waited until they'd stopped in front of him before he decided to open his eyes; as he did, the figure sat down.

“Mandy said you might be here.”

Debbie. His sister's voice was much more welcome than a random student. She moved in close to him and reached for his hand. It was overwhelmingly warm and comforting.

“What are you doing here?”

Debbie looked at him, a weird smile on her face. “Sitting with you, dick.”

She rested her head on his shoulder and he went back to leaning his own head against the tree trunk, enjoying the feel of her hand in his. He felt the weight of the day lifting slightly. Mandy was right; he was far from alone in this. Ian squeezed Debbie's hand tighter. “I'm not going to give up, Debs.”

Debbie raised her head, looking at him with a confused look. “How do you mean?”

“Just...in general. I'm not going to give up on myself. On Mickey. He's going to remember me. I'll make sure of it.”

Debbie smiled widely, the sunlight filtering down through the leaves of the tree and casting light across her face. “And we'll all be there with you, Ian.”

–

_2 Years Before//_

“Ian! The sauce is burning!” Ian abandoned his phone, throwing it on the couch, and ran into the kitchen. Yevgeny was peering up towards the pot of pasta sauce. There were no flames, so smell of burnt food. Instead, Yev was grinning at Ian. “Tricked you!”

“Ha ha,” Ian said dryly, giving Yev a playful shove. “Your dad is going to be home any minute. Do you want to go in and watch through the window? You can tell me when he gets here.”

Yev nodded, already taking his job seriously, and disappeared from the kitchen leaving Ian to tend to the sauce. His pasta had cooked and was sitting to the side, waiting for the sauce which was almost finished. Ian bent over to smell it, letting the scents of basil and tomato waft up towards him. It sent his stomach rumbling and he was glad it was almost ready. It was Mickey's last day working with Gary and the following week he was going to be starting his own contracting business; it was a cause for celebration and Yevgeny had risen to the occasion. A hand painted sign – similar to the one he'd made for Mandy – was hanging up in the living room.

“He's here! He's here!” Yevgeny's small voice could be so loud, Ian thought with a little laugh. He turned the pasta sauce off and left it on the stove top, moving through into the living room where Yev was jumping up and down. “He's here! He's here!”

“Shall we hide?” Ian asked and Yev nodded excitedly, running towards Ian. They ran towards the hallway, hiding just out of sight. Ian heard Mickey's key start turning in the lock and he shared a quick grin with Yev. 

“I'm home!” Mickey called; Ian waited. He pictured Mickey in his head putting his bag down before coming through into the living room. He heard the footsteps and gave Yevgeny the signal.

“Congratulations!” They shouted together, Yevgeny jumping up and down around Mickey as he did so. Mickey laughed loudly, looking down at Yev before looking to Ian.

“What's this for?”

Ian rolled his eyes at Mickey as Yevgeny pointed to the sign. “I made you a sign, dad! To celebrate your new job!”

Mickey reached down and lifted Yev up high, swinging him around the room. “Is that right? And you did that all by yourself?”

“Yes! Ian bought me some new paints to use!”

“Did he just?” Mickey caught Ian's eye again, smiling softly this time. “And what's that I can smell?”

“Dinner!” Yev wriggled in Mickey's arms, desperate to get down now. “Ian made pasta – your favourite, dad! That's some Van double Damme!”

Silence. Yevgeny was grinning widely up at Ian; Mickey was biting his lip. Ian was sure he only did that because he knew how much Ian loved it. Maybe he thought it would soften the inevitable blow. Yev broke the silence first.

“Dad told me to say that.”

“I bet he did.” Ian said tightly. He forced a smile onto his face as he looked at Yevgeny. “Hey, Yev. Do you wanna get the plates out for dinner? One by one – don't carry them all at once!”

Yevgeny was already running into the kitchen, opening cupboards and no doubt causing general chaos. Mickey rubbed one hand on the back of his head as he came towards Ian, his eyes flicking towards the sign. “This is really nice, Ian.”

“Don't think you can pull that soft act on me, Milkovich.”

“Last name terms, ay?” Mickey muttered, rolling his eyes. Fucking smart-ass. It was his answer to everything.

“I can't believe you told him I said that! It was a fucking stupid joke that happened ages ago – one which you will never let me live down, apparently.” Ian took a step back from Mickey, ignoring the smirk on his face. He wasn't mad, not really. It had been a cute moment. But he wasn't going to let Mickey know that yet. Mickey took a step closer.

“Come on, man. You know he didn't mean it in a nasty way – fuck, he doesn't even know the story behind it! He didn't even use it in the right context. I just told him it'd be funny to say one day. I didn't think he'd ever fucking say it. I thought he'd forget about it.” Mickey explained, stepping even closer to Ian. As the sounds of plates crashing together came from the kitchen, Ian realised he'd let Mickey back him up against the wall. “I just think it was cute and that it would be funny if Yev said it.”

“You think I'm cute?” Ian asked, letting himself be sidetracked. Mickey had one hand on the wall next to Ian's head, the other around his waist. Mickey ruined it by rolling his eyes a second time.

“No, Ian. Three years on and I don't think you're cute. Not at all. In fact, I think you're -”

“Just kiss me, idiot, before Yev destroys the kitchen.” Mickey obliged; leaning up towards him, their lips connecting. Ian never got tired of this, fucking never. As they moved together, both aware that Yevgeny was in the next room but neither wanting to break apart, Ian felt a flutter in his chest. Happiness. He didn't give a shit that Mickey and Yev teased him, he didn't care about anything. They could live under a bridge and he would be happy. He pushed all that he was feeling into the kiss, letting his hands snake up Mickey's chest and around his neck. A loud smash caused them to break apart; Ian looked up at Mickey with a nervous look on his face as Yevgeny's little voice came from the kitchen.

“Don't worry. I can clean it up.”

They both moved through into the kitchen. Yevgeny was standing next to the kitchen table with half of a plate in his hands and the other half smashed into pieces on the floor. Mickey, the only one out of the three of them with shoes on, walked towards Yev and picked him up swiftly. He placed him down on the carpet of the living room floor and turned back to the mess. Yev was biting his lip, looking every inch like his dad. Ian could sense tears.

“It's okay, Yev. Accidents happen.” Ian said with a smile, standing next to Yevgeny with one hand on his shoulder. Mickey had got the broom and was sweeping the pieces into a pile. When he was done, a small pile of dust and broken plate sitting in front of him, he used the brush and shovel he'd gotten out of the cupboard to pick it up. As Mickey bent over to retrieve a stray piece of plate, Ian whistled long and low. “Look at your dad cleaning it all up – isn't he good? Now that is some Van double Damme.”

Yevgeny burst into giggles and Mickey stood up, his face bright red and an angry glare on his face. Ian shrugged, grinning widely.

“That doesn't even make sense!” Mickey shot hotly, depositing the broken shards of plate into the bin. Yevgeny went straight for the table and sat down, his eyes heading straight for the pasta on the stove top. Ian and Mickey met at the bench, working together to combine the pasta and sauce. As Mickey rinsed the pot so that the sauce wouldn't set and be harder to clean, he suddenly looked up at Ian. “Oh – I forgot to say. I finally decided on a name.”

Ian put the pasta and sauce down on the table and quickly dished up some on Yevgeny's plate. He then sat down and started drumming his hands on the table. “And?”

Mickey cleared his throat dramatically, sitting down at the table with them. “MM Contracting.”

Ian cheered loudly, encouraging Yev to do the same. Mickey was blushing again and Ian grinned; he could watch Mickey blush all day. Cute didn't even begin to cover it. “I love it! Do you like it Yev?”

Yevgeny nodded, his mouth full of pasta and red sauce covering his lips. Mickey rolled his eyes for the fiftieth time that evening and returned his eyes to Ian. “You really like it?”

“I do. MM Contracting. It sounds professional.”

“That's the point, Gallagher.”

Ever the fucking smart-ass.


	12. Nerve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They're haunting me, you're haunting me."

_2 Years Before//_

Mickey had never expected to own his own business; it wasn't on the cards for a Milkovich. A life of being in and out of prison, maybe. Drugs, alcohol. Terry had lived a life very different to the way Mickey's was turning out. Mickey had his own business, he lived with Ian – happily, giving zero fucks about what anyone thought – and Yev was the best kid any dad could ask for. MM Contracting had taken off; Mickey had made a good impression with various suppliers and other clients of Gary's over the years that he worked with him. It didn't take long for Mickey to build up his own list of clients. Within two weeks, he had his first major job.

After what felt like a week long day at work, Mickey got home reasonably early to find Ian sitting on the front step, a beer in hand and an empty one next to him. With a frown on his face, Mickey walked up the path towards him. “You okay, man?”

Ian took a long drink, tipping his head back before burping loudly. “Not really.”

Mickey felt worry spark through him; his first thought went to Ian's meds and whether or not he took them that morning. Ian was good about his medication, though, and Mickey was certain he saw him take them that morning while they were getting ready. Mickey dumped his bag on the ground and hauled his body onto the step next to Ian. “You gonna elaborate on that?”

“Claire told me she's cutting more of our budget. Less hours at work, less time spent being able to help people who are struggling. More kids who drop out and don't get the attention or care that they need.” Ian shrugged heavily. “Not a big fucking deal.”

Mickey sighed, looking out into the street. Ian finished the beer he was drinking and tossed the empty can next to the other one. He looked at Mickey and shrugged again. Mickey shook his head. “Bullshit. It's fucking bullshit. There's nothing you can do?”

“Not really, no. Not unless I want to look for a new job.” Ian paused, clearly chewing the idea over in his mind. Mickey looked out to the street as a car sped past, music blaring loudly from the open windows. He turned back to Ian.

“Is that where you're at?”

“No. Yes. I don't know.” Ian took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Mickey felt for him; he'd gone through years of sticking it out at a job he hated purely because he felt he had no other choice. Now Ian was in a similar situation.

“If leaving is something you need to do, you know I'm behind you, man. We'll manage.”

Ian leaned towards him, resting his head on Mickey's shoulder. Mickey kissed the top of Ian's head softly and felt the redhead nestle in closer. They sat like that for a moment; Mickey's phone was vibrating in his pocket but he ignored it. 

“I was thinking about studying. Maybe psychology, or sociology.”

“Yeah? Am I gonna have a nerd for a boyfriend?” Mickey joked lightly and let Ian punch his leg. He laughed at his own quick wit – as if – and felt his phone vibrate again. “I'm fucking kidding. I already have a nerd for a boyfriend. I think you should go for it, Gallagher. Why the fuck not?”

“I haven't studied since I first got this job.”

“Not much has changed. You study, you take a test, you pass.” 

“I feel like I wouldn't even know what I was doing – I'd be one of the students that comes into my office asking for help.” Ian pointed out, sitting up straighter now and stretching his long arms above his head. “I'd be on the other side talking to Hitomi about failing classes.”

“Bullshit. You'd be doing the same job part time and studying your fucking ass off, too – you'd be better than any of your students.”

“Hang on, my phone is ringing.” Ian pulled his phone out and smiled at the screen. “Mandy.”

“It's probably her that's been blowing my phone up for the last five minutes.” Mickey paused as Ian answered his phone.

“Hey. Yeah. Really? Okay, we'll see you soon, then.” Ian laughed into the phone before saying goodbye. He put his phone on the step next to his feet and turned to Mickey. “She has news, apparently. She's on her way over.”

“Wonder what the fuck that could be?” Mickey questioned, mostly to himself. “Anyway – I think you should look into this. Nothing saying you have to do it but if you're this unhappy, a change can only be good.”

“You know you talk with your eyebrows?” Ian said suddenly, a smirk playing on his lips and Mickey resisted the urge to kiss it away and instead settled on a pretend angry face.

“I do fucking not!”

Ian laughed, long and loud, his head tipped back. Mickey watched him with an annoyed expression on his face but he wasn't going to let on that he fucking loved the way Ian teased him, and he loved seeing Ian laugh. “You do. I notice it all the time.”

“What the fuck, Gallagher? You just let me walk around like this?” Mickey made an attempt to keep his eyebrows perfectly still but his expression only sent Ian further into laughter. It was fucking music to his ears.

“It's hardly something you can change! Besides,” Ian was moving in close again, fluttering his eyelashes at Mickey and looking like a fucking idiot. “It's cute.”

“You can get fucked with your 'it's cute' bullshit.”

“Will you just shut up and kiss me, Mick?” Ian demanded, stamping a foot for good measure. Mickey pretended like he didn't want to, he huffed and shrugged like he'd rather be doing anything else. But sitting on the front step with Ian was something he could do forever. Every day, day in and day out. Ian gave him that feeling; Mickey felt like there were endless possibilities. He felt like they could do whatever the fuck they wanted, go anywhere, be anyone. It was an amazing thing to feel and something he wasn't used to. But as he deepened the kiss with Ian, one hand cupping Ian's lightly freckled face, he knew he didn't want to get used to this feeling. Every moment, every kiss felt new and Mickey fucking loved it.

“Ugh, fucking gross!” What else were little sisters for if not to ruin moments like this one? Mickey held Ian's face in place with one hand and used his other to lift his middle finger in the general direction of Mandy. “How rude.”

“You would know.” Mickey shot out, finally breaking away from Ian and turning to face his sister. She stood at the bottom of the steps with a piece of paper in one hand and her other on her hip. “What have you come to bother us with, then?”

Mandy suddenly beamed widely, as if remembering why she'd come over. She was almost vibrating with excitement. “Are you ready for this?”

“Should we sit down?” Ian joked and Mickey scoffed at him. Ian mumbled under his breath, “No better than any of your jokes.”

“Ay, man! Enough with the jabs, okay?”

“Can you both quit bickering like an old married couple and listen to me?” Mandy hissed, her voice raised slightly. She took a step closer and her smile was back. She brandished her paper at them, as if expecting them to magically know what was written on it. “I've finished my training. I'm a registered nurse now.”

Ian made a sound that Mickey wasn't sure he'd heard out of any guy ever. It was a weird mix of a yell and a squeal but nobody cared; they both jumped up and rushed at Mandy, pulling her into a weird three-way hug and congratulating her. She attempted to push them off but it was half-hearted; Mickey felt pride towards his sister build up within him. He could tell she was enjoying it.

“This is amazing! We have to celebrate!” Ian's smile matched Mandy's as he spoke. “Dinner somewhere? That place on Jackson Ave?”

“Call Grace and Debbie, see if they can come?” Mickey suggested and Ian nodded, already picking up his phone to dial. Mickey turned to his sister who was looking at her certificate. “I'm proud of you, you dirty little Milkovich.”

Mandy pushed him playfully, punching his arm lightly. “I'm proud of me, too.”

–

A little over an hour later, they found themselves in an Irish pub with pizzas on the table and more than enough beer for everyone. Debbie and Grace had managed to make it and the five of them were holding up their drinks, listening as Ian spoke. 

“To Mandy, who surpassed all Milkovich expectations – shit, all south side expectations – and became the best goddamn nurse that Chicago will ever see!” There was a cheer from around the table and they all clunked their drinks together. A moment of silence as they drunk – Mandy tipped hers back and almost finished the whole thing in one go. She burped loudly and looked around at them all, smiling widely.

“Thanks guys.” Mickey could tell she felt embarrassed with all of the attention being placed on her; her cheeks were tinged with pink, but that could be the alcohol, Mickey thought to himself. “I wasn't sure I'd make it here.”

“Hey, you did fucking awesome to make it here!” Debbie piped up from the other side of Mickey, grinning in Mandy's direction. “In fact, look at us all! South side trash turned professional adults of the world!”

Grace almost spat out her beer in her rush to protest. “Hey! Speak for your fucking selves – don't lump me in with the rest of you!”

“Oh yeah, Grace. We forgot you were a north side snob who is better than the rest of us.” Mickey cut in, grateful he was out of arm's reach. Grace shot him a dark glare; he was going to pay for that eventually. 

“North side snob – fuck you all.” Grace scoffed, lifting her nose in the air.

“Oh, come on, Grace. You're just as trashy as the rest of us – you might have grown up on the north side, but you certainly didn't act like it.” Mandy quipped with a wink towards Grace. Ian was laughing, watching the conversation move around him and Mickey caught his eye. They shared a quick smile as Ian's hand crept onto Mickey's leg.

“I went to a fucking Catholic school. None of those girls are saints.” Grace admitted, shaking her head slightly.

“Don't I fucking know it.” Mandy muttered, more to herself than anyone else but Grace flipped her off anyway. Mickey always found it odd that they got on so well after dating for almost a year; sometimes he wondered if they would ever get back together, they were so close. 

“Back to my original point,” Debbie began, rolling her eyes. “Look at the shitty upbringings we all had and look at us now.”

“Yeah, Mickey lives with his gay as fuck boyfriend, has a kid and owns his own business – he's living the twenty first century dream!” Mickey's eyes shot to Grace; she was grinning, clearly proud of her joke. He glared at her across the table. Ian only laughed, squeezing Mickey's leg tighter.

“You're only jealous because he's more settled than you are, Gracie!” Ian teased. Mickey snorted as Grace's cheeks flared a deep red. Ian had touched a nerve.

“Getting personal now, Gallagher. You wanna fuckin' watch it.”

“Alright, Gracie. Calm the fuck down.” Mickey shook his head, taking a long sip of his drink. “How about a toast to all of us doing whatever the fuck we want and being happy about that?”

“Yeah, and not teasing people for being consistently single.” Grace mumbled, shooting a look at Ian. They all raised their drinks, clinking them together with a small cheer. Mickey glanced around at the people who made up the best parts of his life. Luck was all he felt.

–

_3 Weeks After//_

Another week closer to summer and the heat was making it increasingly hard to sleep at night. Mandy had stopped staying over; she complained that it was too hot to sleep in the same bed and their couch was too uncomfortable. Ian didn't mind too much – it was nice to have the bed back. He was still sleeping on Mickey's side and had resolved to until Mickey was back. Only then would Ian sleep on his own side again. Stretching his long legs out and tossing off the sheet that lay across his body – it was too fucking hot even for that – Ian wondered if Mickey would remember which side of the bed he usually slept on. Ian had gotten used to sleeping on a different side and quietly hoped that he could convince Mickey to switch.

Ian hadn't been in to see Mickey again. He didn't feel like there was any point at this stage; Mickey hadn't had any significant changes in his memory since Ian had been in last, and he didn't want to push it. Ian refused to give up, especially not without a fight, but he also didn't want to force Mickey into trying to remember something that his brain wouldn't let him. He'd been to the hospital, though. There'd been times he had just sat in the waiting room with a book or his laptop. He just wanted to be there, knowing that Mickey was close by. Sometimes Mandy or Svetlana would sit with him but mostly he would be on his own.

Today he was back at the hospital for another meeting with the neurologist and Dr Castillo. This one was more serious, she had said. Mickey's future would be discussed, along with a discharge date. It was that one aspect that had Ian freaking the fuck out. They were in the same meeting room as last time, but this time without the medical interns. Ian briefly wondered why; was this meeting more serious? He didn't want to dwell on it.

There were more of them today, too. Debbie and Lip were there, along with Mandy, Grace and Svetlana. Fiona was looking after Yevgeny so that Svetlana could be there. It only made Ian more nervous, the fact that there were so many people. The meeting room felt smaller with more people in it and it was hard not to feel claustrophobic. Debbie seemed to sense how he was feeling; she shifted her seat closer to his and took his hand, offering him a reassuring smile as she did so. He was lucky to have so many siblings; Ian couldn't imagine growing up without them.

“Okay, everyone. Thanks for making it today.” Dr Castillo began and the nerves in Ian's stomach kicked up a notch as she did so. “I don't have much to say at this stage, other than please go ahead with any questions you may have as the meeting goes on. We want you to be as informed as possible. Dr Gray?”

The man who was every bit as drab as his name stood up and looked around at them all. He had a stack of papers in his hands which he fiddled with for a moment, clearing his throat as he did. His eyes met Ian's and then flickered back down to his papers. Ian took his hand out of Debbie's and lay them flat on the table in front of him, taking a deep breath as Dr Gray prepared to speak. “Morning everyone. I'd like to start by saying that Mickey has made great progress since our last meeting. He is holding on to new memories – like the true age of his son, for example – and is less confused each day as to why he is in the hospital.”

Something was prickling under Ian's skin; the word 'progress' was bugging him and he bit his lip hard before deciding to speak up. Fuck it. “He can't be making that much of an improvement if he still doesn't know who I am.”

Dr Gray pressed his lips together tightly, his eyes finding Ian again. There was no emotion there. The man was empty. “He might not ever get those memories back.”

It was as if the doctor had punched Ian right in the face. He had no words, no idea of how to reply. Ian yanked his hands from the table and into his lap, twisting them together. Debbie was gripping his leg tightly, attempting to steady him but he wasn't sure if would work. Lip was staring at Ian with a look of anger on his face; he faced Dr Gray.

“Do you know what tact is, fuck face?”

Dr Castillo hung her head, clearly disappointed with the direction the meeting had taken so quickly. Ian didn't give a shit that Lip was angry; his brother was only expressing what Ian couldn't. Dr Gray sputtered for a moment, fussing with his papers. He locked his gray eyes onto Lip. “Look, young man. I've been in this job a long time -”

“Yeah, and you've said that at least 3 times since I've met you. I don't give a shit what your credentials are. There's a way to talk to people who are dealing with shit like this, and that wasn't it.”

“I was merely saying that -”

“That Mickey might not ever remember Ian, yeah. We fucking got that. Kind of tough news to hear, right?” Ian's hands were shaking as he listened to his brother stick up for him. Lip's eyes were dark as he glared at the doctor; everyone else was silent as they watched the interaction. “Maybe you should fucking think about how you might sound before you speak next time.”

“Regardless, I have been in this job a long time.” Everyone at the table groaned audibly, and Lip rolled his eyes heavily. “At this stage, there is a low chance that Mickey will recover any remaining lost memories.”

“And in all of your years on the job,” Grace cut in, her voice thick with sarcasm. “you've never seen any miracles?”

Dr Gray was silent; it proved what both Lip and Grace were trying to say but it wasn't enough for Ian. He saw his future ahead of him and Mickey was fading out of it. He desperately wished the ground would open him up and swallow him whole. Dr Castillo cleared her throat and looked around at them all, but not before flicking a look at Dr Gray.

“This is a sensitive time but it needs to be talked about. Based on Mickey's improvement, we feel that he can be released a week from now.” A week. A week and Mickey would be out in the world again, but this time without Ian. How the fuck was that going to work? “He will have reoccurring symptoms for a long time; headaches, fatigue, dizziness. These may take a long time to fade away and Mickey will need support during this time. I understand, Mandy, that you've contacted his insurance company and have set up a day to day nurse to help with the transition. I would advise that someone stays with him overnight in the beginning; there is always the chance that he will regress and forget things again.”

Ian was ready to go home; he wasn't sure how much longer he could sit there and hear them all talk about Mickey as if he was stranger. Ian was the stranger, now. He felt like he didn't belong in the meeting room. He wouldn't be a part of Mickey's new life, he wasn't going to be involved. Why would he sit there and listen to them tear his own life apart, bit by bit? It was torture. Ian focused on his hands, studying his nails and screwing up his hands into fists. Debbie was still there next to him, her hand quite firmly on Ian's leg but even that didn't make him feel better any more. There was nothing any of them could do or say; Mickey wasn't ever going to remember who he was. What was the point in anything?

“Ian? Do you have anything to add?” He hadn't been listening; they were all looking at him, pity in their faces and Ian hated it.

“No.” He mumbled, lowering his head again. The conversation kept flowing; he heard Mandy ask a question about the dizziness and how Mickey would deal with each symptom. 

“Sleep, and lots of it. He shouldn't force himself to do anything he doesn't feel up to, and no one should try and push him too much. His brain is trying to repair itself, in a sense, and if he feels like he needs to sleep, let him.” Dr Castillo answered. She looked around at them all as the voices died down. “Does anyone have any other questions?”

It was sitting on the tip of his tongue; why shouldn't he ask? He deserved answers just as much as everyone else in the room. “Is there a reason why he doesn't remember me in particular?”

Dr Gray shook his head slowly, focusing on Ian and blatantly ignoring Lip who was glaring at him, a silent warning to treat Ian nicely. “Not really, no. This area of medicine and study is constantly evolving. Scientists who study the brain believe that our memories are captured and stored by two separate parts of our brains. It is very possible that part of Mickey's brain is damaged, losing some past memories – who you are, for example – yet the bulk of his memory centre remains intact. As it has been mentioned before, there is always the chance that the memories are in there somewhere but at the moment, that isn't likely.”

Ian nodded tightly. He wasn't sure what answer he'd been expecting. If he was honest with how he was feeling, he was waiting for someone to burst in and say they'd found a magical cure that would bring all of Mickey's memories back. Or that a nurse would come in and say that Mickey was asking for Ian. Realising that those scenarios were only dreams was a tough pill to swallow.

“What we want you to do from here is to have a discussion. You need to make plans as to where Mickey will be living, who will be caring for him and things like that. There are multiple resources available to you; I'll give you a list of people that you can contact for help. There is also a support group that runs in one of our meeting rooms monthly for families of people with severe brain injuries.” Dr Castillo paused and glanced towards Ian; the pity in her face made Ian feel sick. “Try not to feel too disheartened; Mickey is getting out of hospital soon and this a positive step.”

The meeting ended shortly after that; the doctors filed out and left everyone else sitting there, not sure where to go from there. Ian stretched out in his seat, his legs almost touching Lip's on the other side of the table. Ian looked around at them all, attempting to plaster a smile on his face. “Shall we start discussing, then?”

Svetlana frowned at him. She'd been silent throughout the meeting but she inched forward in her seat now, turning towards him. “You need rest, Ian.”

“No, I really don't. We need to talk about this. Make plans. Whatever.”

“I think we should do this when you are feeling more up to it.” She replied, frowning deeper at him. Mandy was nodding next to her, agreeing silently and he felt them all looking at him again.

“Lana, I promise you that I want to do this now. If I don't, I'm not sure it'll ever happen.” Ian spoke through gritted teeth; he didn't want to get mad at any of them but he felt as if he was close to boiling point. It was all too much for him to think about and he just wanted to lie down and forget about it all. “Can't we just do this now?”

“Hang on – we can't stay here. They'll be needing it again soon. Plus, Iggy should be here for this, too.” Grace pointed out and Ian wanted to scream. Delaying it was only going to make it worse.

“Why don't we get Iggy over to Mickey's and we can all meet there?” Lip suggested. Mickey's. Not Ian's. Ian ignored it. Tried to, at least.

“Sounds good!” Ian said with a false brightness that fooled no one, standing up quickly. Debbie's hand fell off of his leg and she looked up at him, worry in her eyes. 

“Shall I pick up some food or coffee on the way?” Lip asked as they all followed Ian and stood up from the table. 

“Both.” Grace muttered, leading the way out of the door. “I need several large coffees to get through this morning.”

After filing out of the room and heading down to the entrance of the hospital, they stood around for a moment organising who would carpool with who. Ian stood against the wall watching them all talk as if he was floating above them. The hospital was moving, people bustling past with happy faces or sad faces. He could see their mouths moving, talking. Lip and Grace were nodding in agreement about something; Mandy was digging her fingers into Iggy's rib as some sort of joke. Ian felt lost. Everything around him was moving forward, always forward, but he felt stuck. How could he move forward without Mickey? Time refused to move for him. Ian simply stood there and waited, for what he didn't know.


	13. Any Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Crawl back to life, it's been far too long."

_3 Weeks After//_

Ian was the first one to arrive back at the house. Fitting, seeing as he was the one with the key to open the front door. He stepped inside and looked around slowly; it was beginning to dawn on him that he would no longer be living with Mickey. This house had originally been Mickey's; when they'd decided to move in together, it had made sense for them to move here. Ian's old house had been shit compared to this one, and Mickey's was closer to work for the pair of them. It had been Ian's home long before he'd moved in, too. He'd spent countless nights here prior to moving in and Mickey had even commented one day that Ian had looked more comfortable than Mickey. The thought of no longer living here was not one he wanted to dwell on just yet.

Closing the front door behind him, Ian stepped further into the house. It was stuffy, despite the reasonably early hour. He hadn't had a chance open up the doors and windows before he'd left for the meeting at the hospital that morning and took a moment now to open up all of the windows. There wasn't much of a breeze outside, however, so it didn't do much to lessen the heat. Ian was doing his best not to think about what was coming; talk about the future. Not until he had to, at least. He was well practised in the art of putting things off. He'd done it for so long before being diagnosed with bipolar.

Ian had no idea what to do while he waited for everyone to arrive. He hadn't expected them to take this long; they'd all left at the same time. Grace had contacted Iggy and asked him to meet everyone else here at Mickey's. Ian had the feeling like something big was coming – his chest would constrict and feel tight every now and then, anxiety filling him slowly. It had been building since before the meeting and Ian knew it would bubble over at any moment.

He jumped right out of his skin as there was a quick knock on the door before Mandy opened the front door and walked in, closely followed by Grace and Svetlana. Ian gave them a brief smile before turning away and heading into the kitchen. He wasn't sure why, he only knew he didn't want to start talking just yet. Dishes were sitting in the sink from breakfast and Ian started running the tap, his hand under the running water as he waited for it to warm up.

Another bang of the front door and Ian knew more people had arrived, though he wasn't sure who. He focused on the sink that was filling up with hot, soapy water. His hands were sitting in it, holding the bowl he'd used for his cereal that morning under the water. The water was heating up, though, and before he knew it, his hands were burning. Ian yanked his hands out and held them in front of him; they were bright red but not burnt. He shook his head roughly – what the fuck was he doing? Ian abandoned the sink of dirty dishes and dried his hands on a nearby dish towel. Voices were coming from the living room and he moved in their direction.

“Ian – will you sit the fuck down?” Svetlana demanded the moment he walked through into the living room. He stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate. “You always moving. Take some time to do nothing while you can.”

Ian smiled, his first real smile in what felt like forever. “Says the woman who does fucking everything.”

But he obliged and collapsed onto the couch that was free; Mandy, Grace and Svetlana were bunched in together on the other one. Grace glanced at her phone. “Iggy is almost here. Debbie went with Lip to get coffee.”

“This feels weird.” Mandy commented, bringing her legs up and tucking them underneath her on the couch. She was only small and didn't take up much room on the sofa; in fact, Ian thought with an inward smile, all three of the girls were sitting quite comfortably together, two in particular. Ian didn't miss Grace's hand and the way it would rub Mandy's leg from time to time. “I wish Mick was here.”

Ian felt a pang of sadness as he silently agreed with Mandy. The front door opened suddenly and Iggy walked in, tall and gangly. He lifted his head in greeting to them all as he came further into the living room and sat down on the floor in front of the TV. “Who are we waiting on?”

“Debbie and Lip.” Grace answered and they all fell silent. Svetlana's phone made a noise and she pulled it out, smiling to herself. He found himself absently wondering what had made her smile. Ian heard a car pull up and knew that Lip and Debbie had arrived; his anxiety kicked up into a higher gear. Everyone waited as the footsteps came closer and closer to the front door; it felt like a horror movie. When the pair finally stepped inside, hands full with coffees and a paper bag that smelled like fresh baking, Ian let out the breath he wasn't sure he remembered holding.

“Muffins because why the fuck not.” Lip called as he walked in. Debbie made a beeline for Ian, flopping down onto the sofa next to him and giving his hand a quick squeeze. Lip started handing out coffees while Debbie pulled muffins out and gave them out. Once everyone was sitting awkwardly with a coffee in one hand and a muffin in the other, they all looked around at each other. No one knew what to do or say.

“Well, if no one knows what to say, I just want to say that that fucker Dr Gray is a fucking asshole.” Lip started, taking a sip of his coffee and glancing around at them all from his position on the floor. Mandy snorted, shaking her head as she did so.

“You're fucking telling me. He needs to fucking retire.” She commented and they all made a noise of agreement. Ian was unsure of what to say to start the conversation that they were all there for; he looked at the muffin in his hand, not hungry at all.

“Grace gave me the low down on what's happening. I just don't understand why he can't remember Ian when Ian is so important to him.” Iggy spoke, his eyes finding Ian's across the room. There was too many similarities to Mickey and it made Ian's head hurt to look at Iggy, but he managed a small smile. Iggy was surprisingly sweet. All three of the Milkoviches in his life were. “It just doesn't make sense.”

“It's because his brain is fucked, idiot. It's not like he's choosing to not remember Ian.” Mandy shot out at her brother angrily, but Ian had to grit his teeth to avoid having a go at Mandy for her choice of words. “You're such a fuckwit sometimes.”

“Get fucked, Mandy.”

“Can you two fucking quit it with the sibling rivalry?” Lip demanded suddenly. He was on the floor in front of the couch that Ian and Debbie sat on, his legs crossed in front of him and a half eaten muffin in his hands. “This isn't why we're here.”

“No shit. Why are you here, Lip?” Iggy asked, looking at Lip now. Debbie sighed deeply, her eyes narrowing at them all.

“You all need to shut the fuck up. We're all here for Mickey – and Ian. Quit your arguing and let's get the fuck on with it, okay?” It was clear why she was such a good nanny, minus the swearing. Both Iggy and Lip looked down at their laps and Mandy shook her head in Iggy's direction. There was a moment of silence where no one knew how to move forward, before Debbie once again took control. “Right. First off, is Mickey's insurance all sorted?”

Mandy nodded immediately, swallowing the mouthful of chocolate muffin she was eating. “I didn't think you'd want to sort it, Ian, so I went ahead and did it. It covers his accident and he'll get a nurse to come into the home and care for him, plus someone – maybe the same person? I wasn't sure – to clean and cook where he can't.”

“Isn't that what we're supposed to do?” Grace asked, turning her head to look at Mandy. Her hand was on Mandy's leg. Ian wanted to question Mandy about it but not now, not in front of everyone. He would no doubt forget about it, though. He refocused on what was being said.

“Yes but we might as well take advantage of whatever they're going to provide. Someone is getting back to me this week on what hours and days will be covered. We'll have to do the rest.” She looked around at them all, her eyes lingering on Ian for a moment. “I thought we could work out what we all work and figure out who can do what.”

“I can come over with the kids. He doesn't know who I am, but maybe I can cook while he's sleeping.” Debbie said light-heartedly, her attempt at a joke not really bringing much in the way of laughter. Ian couldn't even muster a smile. 

“Look, I get that his brain is messed up,” Iggy started, his words making Ian angry but he kept his mouth shut, unable to say anything for fear that a wave of emotion would come pouring out. “But what if we showed him photos of Ian? Or tell him stories? You don't just forget what he had with Ian.”

Iggy was talking like Ian wasn't there and he was completely fine with it. He was content to listen to the conversation at the moment. He had no idea how to voice the turmoil of thoughts in his mind. Mandy rolled her eyes and glared at her brother. “You don't think I've tried that? Mickey doesn't want to hear it. He's gone back to being closeted, Ig. He has no idea how out he was, or that he had a fi-boyfriend.”

Ian snapped up his head, certain that Mandy had been about to say fiancé but she wouldn't meet his eye and he wasn't about to dwell on it now. Iggy was frowning, clearly coming to the same conclusion that Ian had, and Ian didn't miss Mandy's tiny shake of her head. Svetlana cut in, waving her hands in the air as she spoke. “I think it will come back, one day. I know Mickey longer than most of you; I was his only girlfriend, you remember. I never see him love someone as much as he loves Yevgeny and Ian. You do not forget that.”

There were tears pricking Ian's eyes and he furiously blinked them away, not wanting to move. His coffee was still in his hands, slowly losing it's hot temperature. The muffin made him want to vomit so he put it on the side table next to the couch. Grace was smiling at Svetlana, grateful for the optimism but it wasn't doing anything for Ian. He'd forgotten how to be optimistic.

“I hope so, Lana.” Debbie added, her voice soft. 

“I will make him remember his carrot boy.” Ian snorted loudly at Svetlana's words; Mandy giggled to herself, too. “Yevgeny will help him, too.”

Ian had no idea what to think about anything. A million thoughts were rushing through his head; where Mickey would live, what would happen to his work. Where Ian would be while all of this 'caring' was going on. Svetlana and Grace started joking about different ways Yev could help Mickey and Ian tuned out. Again, the feeling of being an outsider started coursing through him. He felt as if he wasn't needed, as if he was irrelevant. Debbie was watching him quietly while the others joked, and she took his hand in hers. He wanted to squeeze it, tell her how much he appreciated her but it wouldn't come.

“Okay, so we can each take turns coming around to cook and hang out with him.” Lip said carefully; they were all being so careful with their words, not wanting to upset Ian. If only they knew what was going on inside his head. “I hate to be the one to ask...”

Lip trailed off. A ringing in Ian's ears suddenly came to a stop; where was Mickey going to live? That was the question that filled the room now. No one looked at Ian, not even Debbie. He sat there with no idea what to do or say.

“Does anyone want more coffee?” Lip stood up, his knees cracking as he did so, and stretched his arms above his head. He took Ian's cold coffee from his hands without asking and walked through into the kitchen. “I'll boil the water.”

“How's work, Mandy?” Debbie asked quietly. Ian stood up; he didn't want to be here while they passed the time, waiting to get to the gritty stuff that nobody wanted to talk about. He mumbled something about the toilet and walked out of the living room, heading down the hall and into the bathroom. He shut himself in there, locking the door and sitting on the toilet with the lid closed. His head found his hands and he sighed deeply, feeling everything at once.

Where was Mickey going to live? Where was he going to sleep at night? What house would he call home? There was a very strong possibility that Ian would have to move and it was an idea that he'd been ignoring for awhile now. It made the most sense, though. Mickey would know this was his home; he'd lived here long before he'd met Ian. To have him stay somewhere else would be confusing for Mickey, and detrimental to his recovery. But he didn't know who Ian was, didn't want to know. There was no way they could live together.

The only option was staring Ian in the face and he wanted to screw his eyes shut until it went away and another idea formed in his head. Nothing came, though, and he knew nothing would. There was nothing else for him to do. Ian took a deep breath, letting it out slow, before standing up. He stood over the hand basin and ran the cold water, letting it pool in his hands before splashing it on his face. The cold water was a shock to his system and did what he had wanted it to; it jolted him into reality. He knew what he had to do, what he had to say.

Everyone was waiting for him when he got back. Silently, while they all talked about a recent school project of Yevgeny's, Ian returned to his seat on the couch next to Debbie. She immediately took his hand again, giving it a little squeeze. He returned it this time, feeling a little life coming back to him. Ian had felt lost for so long with what to do; finally making a decision had almost made him feel a little better, even if it was a shitty one.

“You okay?” Debbie whispered while the others talked. Her eyes were full of concern for him. She gestured to her phone that sat in her lap. “Fiona sends her love. She's taking Yev and Liam to that park they both love.”

“I'm okay, Debs. Thanks.” Ian said, and he meant it. He tried not to forget how lucky he was to have the siblings he did, even if they annoyed the shit out of him for the majority of the time.

They both turned back to the room, listening as Iggy and Mandy argued about who had had the best science project when they'd been at school.

“Come the fuck on, Ig. You were barely at school. I won a fucking award for that thing!”

“An award? Bullshit – that was me!”

“Actually – no, wait! It was Mick! He won that excellence certificate for science. It was neither of us.” Mandy was close to shouting, her voice high as she realised that neither of them were right. “He was always smarter than both of us.”

“He still is.” Grace shot out, making Ian grin slightly with her comment. Mandy jabbed her in the side, causing her to spill a few drops of the coffee in her hands. A glare passed between them and Ian watched carefully; something was up with the pair of them. He wasn't sure what and right now, with the discussion that was coming, he didn't give a shit.

“Mickey is smarter than everyone in this room.” Ian quipped, enjoying the angry look that came over Svetlana's face.

“Hey, carrot boy. Watch who you are talking to!” Ian grinned at her, forgetting everything for a moment to enjoy teasing her.

“Where did carrot boy come from, anyway?” Iggy asked, looking from Ian to Svetlana. Mandy was rolling her eyes once more at her brother.

“Seriously, Iggy? Are you that thick?”

“Fuck you!”

“Ian's hair is fucking orange, like a carrot.” Mandy practically hissed at Iggy. She shook her head, her face full of disdain. “You think you could put two and two together, dipshit.”

“Look, Mandy, just because -”

“Okay, okay!” Ever the peace keeper, Debbie raised her voice to be heard over the squabbling of Iggy and Mandy. The siblings snapped their mouths closed and turned their hard eyes to Debbie. “Calm down, children.”

Mandy held her middle finger up in Debbie's direction but they were grinning at each other. Sometimes it made Ian laugh to think how intertwined their two families were, especially seeing as how close they'd come to knowing each other throughout their childhoods. Debbie was as close to Mickey and Mandy as she was to Ian; Mickey had mentioned more than once in the past five years that Debbie was the one he wanted to talk to about a specific problem. Mandy had been Ian's best friend since they'd met; the Milkovich family and the Gallagher family were linked in so many ways now that it was impossible to tear them apart.

“Shall we get to the real matter at hand?” Lip asked carefully, avoiding Ian's eyes and looking weirdly at random pieces of furniture instead. His question had them all silent for a few moments as they all thought about what the response should be.

“Well, it's obvious, isn't it?” Iggy said and Ian was sure he could hear Mandy rolling her eyes without actually seeing it. “He'll stay here with Ian.”

Despite having his mind made up about what he needed to do and say, Ian couldn't bring himself to say anything yet. Thankfully for him, Grace pointed out the tiny, minuscule flaw in Iggy's plan. Her voice was soft. Quiet. She was trying not to hurt Ian. It hurt anyway. “He doesn't know who Ian is, Iggy.”

“I fucking know that!” Iggy said hotly, clearing his throat and sending a look of apology Grace's way. “I just mean – maybe living here with Ian will bring it all back to him.”

“I'm not sure whether that would work or not.” Debbie said evenly, not wanting to offend Iggy further. She leaned forward in her seat, talking with her hands. “Dr Castillo mentioned something about not forcing Mickey to remember things when it's not coming naturally. We all want him to get better and remember Ian, but I don't think forcing it is a good idea.”

“I guess you're right.” Iggy mumbled, his head in his hands as he stared at the floor. Debbie relaxed back into the seat, reaching for Ian's hand without even looking at him. 

“Any ideas?” Lip asked. No one was going to say it; no one wanted to say it. And really, Ian didn't blame them. He hated thinking it, having the words on the tip of his tongue. His breathing was steady, though, and his hands weren't shaking. Ian knew, deep down, that this was the right move. It was just hard as fuck to accept that. 

“He'll live here.”

No one answered or asked Ian to clarify what he meant; they all knew what he was trying to say. Ian sat up a little straighter, lifted his head a little higher. Mandy was staring at him with shiny eyes. Grace was holding her hand and Ian could see the skin turning white with the pressure of her hand. Ian's own hand was being squeezed by Debbie. All of this support surrounding him – he could do this.

“I'll move out and Mickey can have the house. It was his in the beginning, after all.” Ian elaborated, trying not to see the hurt and shock on Mandy's face. Lip was silent, not looking at anyone. Ian didn't want them to try and change his mind; he kept talking before anyone else could speak. “I'll pay half of the rent because he won't be working.”

“Ian – what – no. Don't be ridiculous.” Grace started, shaking her head slowly as she spoke. Ian put his hand up to stop her.

“What other choice is there, Grace? I can't stay here. Mickey shouldn't have to move – he's already confused enough as it is. This was his home first, and it should be his home now. Only his.”

“There must be another way.” Iggy said quietly from his spot on the floor, still not looking up at anyone.

“There isn't.” Ian said tightly. He had thought this through and he didn't want to go back on his decision, no matter what options were thrown at him.

“Where will you go?” Mandy almost whispered, her eyes still wet with tears that wouldn't fall, as if she refused to let them. “You can live with me.”

“In your shoe box?” Ian joked lamely, and when no one laughed he felt stupid. This wasn't a laughing matter. “I'll go to Fiona's place.”

Ian hadn't actually mentioned it to Fiona, but he knew she would be okay with it. And he would make it as temporary as he could – the idea of living on his own again wasn't an easy thought, though. Staying with family for awhile would be a nice change. Plus, he would be needing the distraction from the situation with Mickey. He could even sleep in his old room, if Carl didn't mind.

“There has to be some other way to do this.” Iggy said again, looking up at Ian now. His eyes were wide with sadness and it almost broke Ian to see them looking so similar to Mickey's. Ian looked away, looking at his own brother instead.

“There isn't another way. This is the most logical. I'll stay with Fiona until I can afford my own place.”

“Wait – afford your own place? What?” Lip was asking, his left eyebrow raised high in the air. Mandy was staring at Ian and he ignored her; she'd worked it out before the others.

“Mickey and I won't be together any more. I can't be in a relationship with someone who doesn't know who I am, Lip. I won't be moving back here.”

Ian's words had everyone floored; Mandy was crying silently as Grace held her hand even tighter than before. Ian didn't want to look at any of them. Debbie's hand was a dead weight in his own hand. She was staring at him, along with everyone else, and it was making him anxious. He wanted them all to leave, immediately. He couldn't kick them out, though. So instead Ian plastered a weird smile on his face and glanced around at them all.

“Look, it's the logical thing to do, guys. I'm okay. I made this decision and I'm sticking to it.” Ian started, his brain whizzing for an excuse that would get them to leave, and quick. His smile wasn't fooling anyone and he wanted them to go before he broke completely. “I hate to ask you to leave, but I have to get to work.”

It worked like a charm; everyone started making moves to leave. It felt like the wake after a funeral. Debbie stayed by his side as everyone came over and hugged him. Svetlana was looking at him with a stony glare and her hug was stiff.

“You make wrong decision, carrot boy, and you know it.”

“There's nothing else to do, Lana.” Ian tried. His body was tired, emotionally and physically. He didn't want to keep talking. He had no fight left in him. “Give Yev a cuddle from me. Tell him I'll see him soon.”

She walked away, shaking her head slightly but Ian knew there was nothing he could say to make her feel better, considering he was feeling so shit his self. After a slightly teary moment with Mandy, it was only Debbie left. Ian busied his self picking up discarded coffee cups and half-eaten muffins, struggling to hold them all. Debbie helped but she watched him the entire time. He was waiting for her to talk but she only stared.

They moved into the kitchen and deposited the trash into the bin, standing there for a moment awkwardly. Debbie came at him with her arms out and he went to her, the tears coming thick and fast. Sobs choked out of him, wretched and broken. His chest was heaving before he even knew what was happening; a moment ago he'd felt okay, dealing with the choice he'd made but now it was hitting him in the face. Ian's legs were wobbling. He needed to sit down. The dining table was closest and he collapsed into a chair, Debbie standing over him with her arms still around him. She was rubbing his back with her hand, slowly up and down, and he tried to focus on that.

It wouldn't work, though. All he could think was that after five years, he was going to be single. The word sounded foreign, unheard of. Single. On his own. Alone. So many different ways to describe it but it all came back to the same two words. Without Mickey. His shirt felt damp around the collar and he knew it was because of his tears. They didn't want to stop, though. Ian felt that he might spend the rest of his life like this; bent over the kitchen table with tears flowing from his face and his body shaking with the effort of all he was feeling.

How had his life changed so quickly? A month ago, his biggest worry had been an overdue power bill and whether or not Mickey was losing interest in him. Now he was losing Mickey altogether and moving back into his sister's house. It was fucking ridiculous.

“I know it's hard Ian, but I want you to try and calm your breathing down, okay?” Debbie said softly, her hand still moving up and down on Ian's back. He sucked in a gasp of air and focused on her hand. “That's it. I don't want you to make yourself sick. Just take some deep breaths.”

Ian did as he was told; truth was, he was fucking exhausted and wasn't even sure that he had any more left inside of him to give. His breathing slowed quickly but his face felt swollen, his eyes stinging from the sudden onslaught of emotion. “Thank you for staying.”

“Hey, I know you better than you give me credit for. I knew what was coming.” Ian could hear the emotion in her own voice; she loved Mickey almost as much as he did. “I'm going to head out soon and get us some lunch – pizza or something similar. Comfort food.”

Ian sat up straight in the seat, smiling slightly at his sister. “It doesn't feel real, but at the same time I feel like it's the end of the world? It's weird.”

“I know, Ian. It's fucking shit, is what it is.”

Ian's voice was thick from crying as he spoke. “I want him back so bad, Debs. It's not fair.”

“It really isn't.” Debbie agreed, leaning forward to hug him again. Her hand was consistently present on his back, keeping him steady. “I want to tell you though, big brother, that I'm really proud of you. It can't have been easy to decide that.”

Ian shook his head, tears welling again but he forced his mind off of the situation and instead on the fact that his stomach hadn't had food for a long time. Pizza was starting to sound like the perfect distraction from every shit thing he was feeling. Taking a deep breath, Ian pushed back from the table and stood up. Debbie was watching him warily and he sent her a wobbly smile. “I'm alright, Debs. It's just hard.”

“I know it is, Ian, but you know – I'm here. So is Mandy, Grace, Iggy, Lip, Fiona, Svetlana, Yev – you have so many people behind you! We're here for you.”

Ian couldn't put his gratitude into words. It was simple; he couldn't do this on his own. Mickey was his other half, half of his world. The thought of losing that – the fact that it was going to happen, that there was nothing Ian could do to stop it? It was twisting him from the inside. He had the impossible task of either attempting to ignore the situation or facing it head on and dissolving into a ball of sobs. Neither were very tempting. All Ian knew, though, was that this would be one of the hardest things he would ever do, and he had no idea how to deal with it.


	14. Somebody Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I took all my things that make sounds. The rest I can do without."

_Four Years Before//_

If you Google a list of the most stressful things, the top ten will include thing such as marriage, death of a loved one, divorce. Never, not once, does it mention anything about fucking moving house. Mickey was of the opinion that it should be number fucking one, right at the top of the goddamn list. He had only moved house once before in his life; when he had left his dad's place and moved into his own house. Since then, he had refused to even help someone move. It sucked ass and he avoided it like the plague. But now, Ian was moving in with Mickey, and Mickey would be the world's shittiest boyfriend if he didn't help.

But here's the thing: Ian was fucking shit at moving. As if it was a talent, something to aim to be good at – but Ian was shit. Mickey had text him saying that he was picking up the truck that they'd arranged to hire, and the next thing Mickey knew, Ian was ringing him near tears complaining that he'd barely started packing. Mickey was trying hard not to feel stressed but the truck guy had already told him it would be another half an hour before he would get the truck because the person hiring it out before him was late returning it.

“Ian. I told you over a week ago that today would be moving day. You told me you were sorted.” Mickey was trying hard to keep his voice calm, but it wasn't fucking working. His growing anger was laced around every single word.

“I know, Mick. But I've had a busy week at work and -”

“So how much of your house is actually packed?” Mickey asked through gritted teeth, his free hand massaging his head. He could feel a headache coming on.

“I've packed up the kitchen!” Ian said brightly but it did nothing to ease Mickey's mood.

“The kitchen. So nothing is packed in the bedroom? The living room where the most of your shit lives?”

“Don't be mad at me!”

“Don't be mad at you? I'm fucking furious, Gallagher!” Mickey's voice raised more than he wanted it to; he was stood outside of the rental office for the moving truck and a person was walking past with their dog and giving Mickey a weird look. The urge to flip them off was strong but he focused on Ian. “Look. I'm picking up the truck now. I'll be over in ten to fifteen minutes. Pack what you can and we'll sort the rest when I get there.”

Mickey took longer than he thought to sort the truck. Half an hour later, he was pulling up outside the shit hole Ian was leaving. Taking a deep breath, Mickey stepped out of the truck and made his way inside. He could do this. He could keep his temper under control. Couldn't he? He found Ian sitting in the middle of the living room, three empty boxes all around him and a pile of books directly in front of him. Mickey sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Ian, man. What the fuck?”

“I feel weird about moving.” Ian's quiet voice surprised Mickey but as he took in the shit they still had to do, he found it hard to be sympathetic.

“Really? You feel weird? I thought I was supposed to be the one afraid of change in this relationship.” Mickey joked lightly, but Ian didn't laugh, just continued to stare at the book he was holding. He sat down next to the redhead and pulled the book out of his hands. “Harry Potter? Really?”

“I'm a fucking book worm and you know it.” Ian protested weakly, smiling a little as Mickey teased him some more.

“Sadly, I do know that. Jesus – Lord of the fucking Rings?” Mickey held up the book, maybe the thickest book he'd ever held, and waved it around in Ian's face. “You're the biggest fucking nerd I know.”

“Fuck you! You're just as much of a nerd as I am, you just don't read books.” Ian retorted, laughing at his own words. “Look at all this shit, Mick. How does one person accumulate so much junk?”

“Look, I know you feel weird, but this is what you want, right?” Mickey softened his voice. As annoyed as he was at Ian for not having done fucking anything, he knew he wasn't going to get Ian moving by being angry. Ian nodded dumbly, looking down into his now empty lap. “If it's what you want, then that's okay. It's normal to feel like this, man.”

“I know, I know.” Ian relented, shaking his head slowly. He looked around at all of the shit surrounding him, his eyes landing on the Harry Potter book. He smiled fondly. “Sorry for holding us up.”

“Well then, just get your shit together, ay?” Ian laughed this time, looking up at Mickey with his big green eyes. “And can I just say – I'm glad you're not bringing that statue. It's fucking ugly as shit.”

Mickey pointed to a small statue that he'd never seen before. It was a mask of some sort, but it's face was weird and warped slightly. It gave Mickey the creeps. Ian followed his gaze and frowned, his brows knitting together. “Carl gave me that as a joke when he was younger. I couldn't throw it away.”

Of course not. Of course. Mickey didn't reply, just gritted his teeth once more and slapped a fake smile on his face. “Let's get this shit done, shall we?”

They spent the next hour unceremoniously throwing things into boxes; Mickey had only rented the truck for half the day and he didn't want to have to pay for more. Ian didn't have heaps of stuff and Mickey knew it would only take one or two trips back and forth. It didn't take as long as Mickey thought it would, and by the time they'd loaded up the truck for their first run, half of Ian's place was empty. Despite the rocky start, by midday they had moved all but the last three boxes from Ian's house over to Mickey's. As Ian locked the front door of his old house, Mickey watched him hesitate before turning around and heading towards the truck. Ian climbed in with a heavy sigh and smiled at Mickey.

“Let's go.”

–

“Ian, I swear to god. You are not bringing that inside this house.” Ian stopped in his tracks, the weird ass mask statue shit in his hands. Mickey gestured to it roughly. “It's fucking weird.”

“What? You know Yevgeny likes it, right?” Ian asked, an eyebrow raised. Mickey shook his head firmly. Ian was lifting his lips in a small smile; he knew he had Mickey with the comment about Yev. “It's for when he comes over.”

“Well, that's sweet of you, Ian dear, but it's fucking ugly and I don't want it in the house. At least hide it away in a drawer. It gives me the fucking creeps.”

Ian walked away, mumbling under his breath. “You give me the fucking creeps.”

It didn't take long for Mickey's home to feel less crowded; when they'd first started bringing in the boxes, Mickey had had the sudden thought that his place was too small for two people. Random boxes covered the floor and Ian was still bringing more and more in. Now, though, Mickey liked the look of it. He also liked the fact that Ian was at hand whenever he fucking wanted him. He'd had reservations about moving in together but now it felt like it was supposed to happen all along.

–

_One Month After//_

Summer had arrived and it wasn't wasting time in melting everything in sight. Ian woke up almost every morning hot and stuffy, desperate for a cold glass of water and an icy shower. It was hard to get dressed knowing his clothes would be drenched with sweat in no time – everyone was saying it was Chicago's hottest summer yet. Ian wished he could crawl under the covers and not end up in a pool of sweat.

The time had come for him to move out. Ian had been putting it off as much as he could. Fiona had brought round a bunch of boxes for him to pack his things into, and she'd also set up his old room for him, pushing Carl into Lip's old room. She was being incredibly helpful but Ian wished she wouldn't; maybe it would make it easier if he could focus his energy into arguing with Fiona about where he would live, rather than the fact that he was moving out of the house he'd shared with Mickey for so long. That was hard enough; to be moving back in with his sister, into his childhood home – he felt like a failure.

He first had to make decisions on what he would take with him. There were so many photos collected over the last five years; for the most part, they were on Ian's phone but there were a bunch he had gotten printed a few years back and put them up over the house. Ian looked at the one on the shelf in the lounge. It was of Mickey and Yevgeny, laughing about some long forgotten joke. Mickey would appreciate these, Ian thought to his self. There were a bunch that had Ian in them, too, and Ian had no idea what to do with them. He wasn't too keen on taking them to Fiona's, but he didn't want to leave them, either. Mickey wouldn't know who the random red head in his photos was.

A thought came to him, an idea but he pushed it to the side for now. He needed to get on with packing. He would focus on his idea later with Mandy over several much needed beers. Memories of the last time he'd moved house came back to him and Ian grinned at the thought of how many times they'd christened each room of the house that very first night. He moved into the bedroom and started with his clothes, stuffing them into a box without much care. By the time he'd packed up everything in the bedroom that was his, the room looked empty. Mickey wouldn't want to come home to this, he thought. Instead of leaving it, Ian spent ten minutes trying to make the place look more liveable. Without dwelling on it, Ian swiftly pulled a photo out of a frame of Mickey, Mandy and Ian. He grabbed a pair of scissors from the bathroom and snipped his figure out of the photo, leaving the smiling siblings and a slightly obvious jagged edge to the photo. Putting it back inside the frame, Ian placed it on Mickey's bedside table. 

Ever since making the decision to move out, Ian hadn't been able to cry. He'd been upset, sure, but tears would never come. Even now, seeing his face cut out of a photo, nothing happened. He screwed it up and set to work making the place a better home for Mickey. Photos of Yevgeny lined the shelves; photos of Ian and Mickey went into a box. The fridge magnet with the photo of Ian and Mickey on a theme park ride went into the box. All of Ian's movies and books got packed away. Ian made sure Mickey's favourites were at the front of the shelves under the TV, in plain sight for Mickey. A few photos had their group in them; Mickey, Mandy, Ian, Grace and Debbie. If he couldn't cut his own face out, he took the photo. By the time he was finished, there was no sign of Ian anywhere. 

Ian had worked hard over the last week making a book for Mickey. It wasn't easy. He had printed off a bunch of photos, trying to find as many as he could without his own face in them. There weren't many but he'd done okay. He'd pasted the photos into the book, with names underneath and a little description. One or two photos it had been impossible to cut his face out; instead, he used a black marker to erase it. He didn't feel sad doing it, it didn't feel symbolic. Maybe it would hit him later. He left the book in the bedroom and sent Mandy a text to tell her about it.

He'd also spent an evening labelling things, mainly the kitchen. Ian had no idea how well Mickey would remember his own house but Dr Castillo had suggested that it would be a good idea. Ian put little labels on all of the cupboards and drawers, describing what was inside. He hoped it would help. 

Instead of packing up the last of his things, Ian took off in his car towards the nearest supermarket. Maybe if he kept his mind busy, kept his body busy, he wouldn't focus on what was happening. He filled the trolley with pizza bagels, potato chips, peanut butter cups. Everything that Mickey loved went into the trolley; it was full of junk but Ian made sure to put a few healthy things in there, too. When he finally arrived back home again, it was as if Ian had never lived there. The house was full of Mickey; his family, his favourite food. Ian felt the emotion swirling in him at the sight of it all, but didn't focus on it. He couldn't. He might break down and never get back up again.

Fiona and Mike arrived later in the afternoon, a trailer attached to Mike's car. Ian moved methodically, picking up boxes and taking them outside, shoving them onto the trailer. When the last one was done, he went back inside and looked around. No tears, still. Fiona and Mike were waiting in the car after Ian had asked for space. He made sure everything was set up, ready for Mickey to arrive the next day. The bed was made with clean sheets, the dishes were all done. There was nothing left to do but leave. So why was Ian still standing there? He lifted a foot to turn around but it clunked back down again.

The tears started to fall the moment Ian caught sight of a photo he'd missed; it was of Ian and Mickey, their faces wide with smiles, at Mandy's graduation party. He didn't remember who had taken it, but they looked happy. With blurred vision, Ian picked it up and held it to his chest, not wanting to look at all of the happiness it held. He closed the door slowly, locking it and holding the key so tight in his hand that it started to cut into his skin. He put it inside the letterbox and headed for the car. He didn't want to look back. He couldn't. It was time to move on.

–

“Okay, Mick. Here we are.”

Mickey looked across from the passenger seat to his sister who was driving the car. She was smiling at him but her words felt like they were coming through a tunnel. They echoed for a moment before his focus came back and he realised what she'd said. Slowly, Mickey turned his head and saw a house. It wasn't very fancy looking. Pretty fucking boring, actually. It suddenly occurred to Mickey that this was where they were supposed to be. This was his house? He looked at Mandy with a confused face and she nodded. This was his house. It was fucking ugly.

“Shall we go in?” 

“I guess.” Mickey answered, shrugging his shoulders. The movement made his head hurt for a second and he cringed, waiting for it to pass. He was used to headaches; he had one almost everyday. They varied in intensity, though. Sometimes he would move too quickly or suddenly and it would send a bolt of pain through his head. Sometimes it even made him forget what he was doing. He looked down at his lap and realised he needed to take his belt off before he could get out. Mandy was already pulling his bags out of the trunk of the car.

Carefully, Mickey unbuckled his seat belt and opened the car door. It was hot and he hated it. His t-shirt was clinging to his back and his jeans were uncomfortable. He almost preferred the hospital gown he'd had to wear when he went for scans. He still couldn't remember why he was in the hospital properly. He'd had an accident at work, he knew that. Mickey remembered none of it, though. It was frustrating.

“You okay?” Mandy was talking again, and he turned in the direction of her voice. She was standing there with his shitty little suitcase in her hands, watching him. People were always watching him like he might break. He didn't feel like he would break; he just felt a little lost most of the time.

“I hope it's cooler in the house.” Mickey commented. Did he have air conditioning? He didn't know. Together they walked up the path to the front steps and climbed them slowly. Mandy produced a key from somewhere and put it in the lock. Once the door opened, Mickey followed his sister inside. She was watching him again. Waiting for a reaction? He didn't know how he was supposed to feel. He felt tired and headed for the sofa, sitting down on it. “So this is where I live?”

“Yes.” Mandy said shortly. He looked at her and realised her face was sad. He ignored it and turned back around, noticing now the different books and movies around the place. They looked familiar.

“Do I like these movies? I think I do.”

“You do, Mickey. They're all your favourites. That's good if you remembered that.”

“I didn't remember it. They just look familiar.” Mickey corrected her, leaning back on the couch and closing his eyes. “I'm tired.”

“I know you are, Mick. Just relax. I'll put your stuff away in the bedroom.” He heard her footsteps recede and listened to the sounds of her moving around in what must be his bedroom. There was a thump and he figured she'd put the suitcase down. Then he heard a weird noise, it sounded like a sob. Why would she be crying? His head thumped a little harder and he tried to focus on nothing for awhile, like his doctor had taught him to. It worked. The thumping started to go away and he forgot about his sister possibly crying in the other room.

Mickey wasn't sure how long it was before Mandy came back through; his concept of time was warped since the accident, the accident he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember much, according to everyone else. It hurt his head to try and remember the things they would say to try and jog his memory. It was weird enough to realise that Yevgeny had grown up so much. Mandy came around to sit next to him, a book in her hands. Mickey looked at her face and saw that same sadness, but this time her eyes were red.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. Here -” She pushed the book into his hands and he looked at it carefully, wary. His name was on the front. Why was his name on the front? “This will help you remember things each day.”

Mickey opened it slowly, afraid of what it might contain. On the first page was a picture full of faces he vaguely recognised. He was in there, too. Mandy was next to him. He spotted Yevgeny and Svetlana off to the right, and Grace was in there, as well. One or two faces he was unsure of – a girl with long, red hair, for example. He didn't know her – did he? She didn't ring any bells in his head. There was a spot next to him in the photo that had been blanked out with a marker. Weird. Wouldn't they just find a photo without that person in? Mickey briefly wondered if it was an estranged family member but it had left his mind before he even really had a chance to think about it more.

He started to flick through the pages, feeling small tugs of recognition with each photo. There were a bunch from Yevgeny's many birthdays, each with the same familiar faces in the background. Always a heap of people he didn't recognise at all. He frowned at picture of his own face, taken at what looked like a theme park. He looked so happy, it was almost unrecognisable. What had made him so happy? Who had taken the photo?

Mandy read his mind. “Ian took that photo, Mick.”

Something was pulling inside Mickey's head, twisting around but swimming just out of reach. Ian. Mandy brought him up all the fucking time but Mickey had no idea who he was. “Why do you have to keep talking about him? I don't know who he is, Mandy.”

Mickey stood up – slowly, because sudden movements fucking hurt – and walked out of the living room towards the next room. He had guessed correctly. He was in the kitchen. He opened a random cupboard; pots and pans. Nope. Not that one. Another one was full of cups and mugs – he tried to file these away and remember them for later but even as he closed the cupboard door, it was hard for him to remember what had been inside. Something caught his eye, though; at the bottom of the cupboard, written on a little sticker was the word 'cups'. It wasn't big – which is why he didn't notice it in the first place – but once he saw the first, he realised there were labels on all of the cupboards, drawers, too. He read each one until he found what he was looking for: food.

The cupboard was full of things he liked – well, he remembered them vaguely and had fond feelings towards each. He couldn't remember tasting any of them, though. Mandy finally came into the kitchen and sat down at the table, watching him as Mickey pulled out a bag of chips and sat down with her.

“I just really want you to remember Ian, Mick.” Mandy began, and Mickey could feel his head starting to hurt already. He ignored his sister and opened the bag of chips, shoving a handful in his mouth. For the last...month? A month, he thought with a quick frown to his self. For the last month he'd had nothing but hospital food, and even though he couldn't remember it very well, he knew it would have been shit. His favourite chips were a welcome change. “He was important to you.”

“Yeah, well – I don't fucking know who he is to care about whether or not he was important, okay?” Mickey shot out, feeling the effect of it in his head. It started pounding almost immediately and it only made him angrier. “Christ, Mandy. I wish you would all just let it go and leave me be.”

Mandy let out a noise of anger. “You don't even listen to us when we try!”

“Fucking christ, Mandy!” Mickey cried out, feeling the pain rising in his head. He ignored it – bad idea – to yell at his sister some more – also a bad idea. “It's confusing enough not knowing the real age of your son or not remembering your own fucking house. Then on top of that, you wanna force me to remember somebody I don't know? My brain doesn't want to remember him, Mandy – he can't have been that fucking important!”

Mandy sputtered, not sure what to say, then all of a sudden she deflated in front him. He watched her, her eyes wet, as she seemed to struggled with what to say. He stuck another handful of chips into his mouth. “I'm sorry, Mick.”

“S'okay.” Mickey shrugged, mouthful. His moods seemed to change quickly since his injury – already, his anger was fading away. Or maybe they'd always been like that? He wasn't sure. It was weird but there was nothing he could do about it. He gestured to the chips, realising that the pain in his head seemed to be getting worse. “Thanks for these, by the way. And the labels on the cupboards.”

“That wasn't me, Mick. That was Ian.”

Mickey's head had reached boiling point; it felt as if someone had split it open with a hammer and was now playing the drums on his skull. He put his hands around his head and held it tight, hoping it would make it go away but it didn't work. “I don't want to talk about this any more! I don't know him, I don't want to know him. He means fucking nothing and it gives me a headache to fucking talk about it, okay?”

“Okay, Mickey. Okay. It's alright.” Mandy held her hands up, concern filling her face now. “What's up? Your head sore?”

“It's always fucking sore.” Mickey muttered through his gritted teeth, his hands still around his head.

“Why don't you lie down?”

Mickey didn't answer, but lying down seemed like the best fucking idea in the world. He stood up carefully, leaving the chips on the table as he staggered for the doorway. “Where is the bedroom again?”

Like he remembered at all. Mandy took his arm but he yanked it away. She led the way and he followed, down a hallway and into a bedroom. He glanced around the room and saw familiar faces staring back at him from the photos, one of him and Yevgeny in particular, next to his bed. It was obviously cut and with an angry thump the name 'Ian' came drifting back into his head. He turned to the bed and felt that familiar pull of a memory that was just out of reach. He'd grown to know the feeling and knew he would probably never remember whatever it was that was sitting there, waiting for him. Mickey climbed under the covers – the smell of the clean sheets was triggering even more lost memories that made no sense – and rested his thumping head on the pillow, hoping it wouldn't take too long to stop hurting.

As he settled under the covers, Mandy fussed around the room. She closed the curtains but it was still only late morning; the sunlight forced it's way through the curtains anyway. Mickey didn't care. The pain was slowly making him feel drowsy. Mandy came over to him and fiddled with the blankets. Mickey sent her a sleepy smirk.

“Jeez, thanks mom.”

“Fuck you, Mick.” Her tone didn't suggest that she was joking around, though. Sleep was coming swiftly to Mickey but as he twisted in the bed slightly, he saw Mandy standing over him. She had tears sitting in her eyes waiting to fall, her face looked heartbroken and Mickey wanted to know why. There was no point in asking, though. He would forget it by morning.


	15. Not Who I Wanted To Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yeah, behind everything that I do, I just want to come home and lay down beside you."

_Before//_

 

“Oh my god – Mick, look!”

“Ian, I'm watching the same fucking movie as you. You don't need to point shit out.”

“Shit, yeah – sorry.” 

“Just keep your voice down, man.”

“Holy fuck, Mickey – she's walking into a fucking trap, right?”

“Ian! Shut the fuck up and watch!”

“But look – you can tell by the way the -”

“Ian!”

“Sorry!”

“You're going to get us fucking kicked out!”

“Fuck! Oh my god, that gave me such a fucking fright!”

“Gallagher!”

–

Everything about Mickey and Ian's trip to New York had been perfect. Ian had chosen the best hotel – cheap, but not too cheap, and with a great view – and they'd both been able to save enough spending money to not miss out on doing anything they wanted to do. After a little under a week of eating more food than was humanly possible and going to at least one gay bar – because Ian had fucking dragged him there – all Mickey wanted to do was sleep. His feet were sore, he was tired and maybe missing his own bed. Ian had other ideas, though.

“Look, Mickey. It's our last day here. I don't want to spend it stuck up here in this hotel room.”

“Okay, but think about it – we could sleep, fuck, sleep some more. Eat. It's perfect. And you act like we're in some budget hotel – this place is a fucking nice place to do nothing in.” They were lying on the bed with the TV on quietly, a random music channel playing songs Mickey had never heard before. The doors leading to the small balcony were open, letting in the noise of the city and a light breeze. Mickey would be happy staying in the same spot for the rest of his life. “What are you wanting to do?”

“Can we just be tourists for today?”

And that was how Mickey found himself in the back of a yellow cab with Ian on the way to the Statue of Liberty. Ian had bought a cheap disposable camera and it was hanging around his neck. It was maybe the stupidest thing that Mickey had ever seen but Ian had listened to none of his complaining. Ian had already taken at least ten photos all of Mickey in the taxi. Mickey had never rolled his eyes so many times in such a quick succession.

When they'd bought the ticket and had boarded the boat that would take them to Ellis island, Ian made Mickey pose at the front of the boat with his arms out.

“Like Titanic, you know?”

“I fucking know, Gallagher, but I'm not doing it.”

“We'll talk later about how you know the Titanic pose but please? For me?”

“Not even for you.”

“We can use the anal beads again?”

A beat of silence.

“Fucking fine.”

–

Ian had woken up grumpy. He wasn't sure why. No, wait a fucking second – he knew exactly why. Mickey was getting over some sort of flu or cold and all he did all fucking night was snore. Ian had been the doting boyfriend for as long as he could, but it got to the point where Mickey was getting all the sleep, and Ian was just lying there listening to him. So, he was now banging pots and pans in the kitchen as he cooked up a big breakfast. He could hear Mickey whistling in the bathroom; he was clearly well rested.

“Christ, the fuck is your problem?” Mickey demanded as he wandered into the kitchen, fully dressed and looking much better this morning. It only made Ian angrier.

“Just tired.” Ian bit out through his gritted teeth. Mickey was looking into the pan that Ian was using, scrunching up his noise at the scrambled eggs that were cooking. “Do you have a problem?”

“Did you put that weird spice in again? I hate that shit.” In one swift movement, before Mickey could stutter out another fucking word, Ian picked up the pan and dumped it in the sink, running water and ruining the eggs. Mickey stared at him, his mouth hanging open and Ian wanted to punch his dumb fucking face. “The fuck, Gallagher?!”

“Get fucked, Mickey!”

As Ian stormed out of the kitchen, leaving the bacon that was slowly starting to burn, Mickey followed him with thumping feet. “Are you gonna tell me what the fuck I've done?”

“I'm fucking tired after being kept up all fucking night by your fucking snoring!”

“Are you serious right now? You're fucking throwing a tantrum like a two year old because I kept you up with my fucking snoring?”

Ian thudded his feet down the hallway and into the bedroom, not really sure what he was doing. The bed wasn't made and for no reason other than he wanted to be doing something with his hands, Ian started stripping the covers. Mickey stood in the doorway. “Yes, that's why I'm throwing a tantrum, Mickey.”

Mickey laughed loudly, running a hand through his hair and making it stand up on end. “How was I supposed to avoid that? I'm fucking sick!”

“I don't know, okay?! Just leave me the fuck alone.” 

–

The TV was blaring but neither Ian or Mickey were watching it. Bodies were intertwined, lips locked. Mickey was wrapped up in Ian, and that was where he wanted to stay. There was nobody else who mattered, nobody else who he wanted to matter. Ian looked at Mickey like he was the most magnificent thing he'd ever seen and it made Mickey blush but it also made him swell with happiness because Ian was his, and Ian wanted him, and he wasn't south side trash, and he wasn't a no good Milkovich. He was Ian's.

–

“Do we need bread?” Mickey asked, breaking into Ian's thoughts. Ian blinked for a second, casting his mind back to what their cupboard looked like. “Well?”

“No? I don't think so, anyway.” Ian answered. He let his mind wander again, contemplating which cereal would be best to buy. Mickey was staring at him.

“I fucking told you we should have written a list.” He mumbled, ignoring the filthy look an elderly man gave him as he walked past the pair. Mickey picked up a box of muesli and glanced at the back, shrugging his shoulders. He tossed it into the trolley and glanced at Ian. “You want anything?”

“I don't know which one to get.”

“It's not rocket science, Ian.”

Ian rolled his eyes, looking at the two he was deciding on and finally chose one, placing it strategically in the trolley next to the other dry goods, ignoring Mickey's snort as Ian rearranged the trolley slightly. They moved further down the aisle, past the spreads and sauces and around the corner into the confectionery aisle. Ian smiled at Mickey; this was their favourite part of shopping for food. Once the trolley was loaded up with various types of sugar filled food, they headed for the checkouts. It was late at night and the store was almost empty; they were through and packing the groceries into Ian's car. He shut the back door and returned the trolley, smiling warmly at a little girl who went running past. He climbed into the driver's seat, smirking slightly before he spoke. “Do you think we'll ever have kids?”

Mickey coughed loudly, almost choking on thin air, and turned to look at Ian like he was batshit insane. “Was that a joke?”

Ian shrugged, starting the car. “Kind of. Do you ever think about it?”

“Not really. I have Yev – I never thought about kids before him.” Mickey paused as Ian pulled out of the parking lot and into the traffic. Ian could almost hear him thinking. “Have you?”

“Yes and no. I never used to want kids but – well, after seeing you with Yevgeny – I like the idea of having kids with you.” Ian said quietly, focusing his eyes on the road and trying to ignore the way Mickey was watching him. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“One day then, Gallagher.”

–

Mickey was sitting on the front step with a beer in his hand and a smile on his face. Ian was helping Yevgeny on the bike they'd bought him for his fifth birthday but Yev didn't want to get on. He was walking it up and down the small front path that led to Mickey's house, with Ian gently coaxing him to get on the bike.

“I don't know how to do it, Ian! I'll fall off!”

“You're not going to fall when I'm right here to catch you, Yev.” It was the softness in Ian's voice that cracked Mickey in two. He busied his self downing the last of his beer as Ian held Yevgeny on the bike, showing him how to use his feet and where to keep his balance. Mickey felt the lump in his throat but ignored it. He would not cry.

–

It was the first and only time Ian had travelled for business. There was a conference in Utah that his boss had wanted him to attend for training purposes. Ian hadn't enjoyed a moment of it because he wasn't allowed to bring Mickey. Although, Ian thought reflectively as he made his way through the airport to where Mickey would hopefully be waiting to pick him up, Mickey had made such a big deal about Ian going, maybe it had been best that he hadn't joined Ian. Mickey had gone on and on about Ian being such a nerd travelling for business, and did he have another man on the side? Ian had ignored it all, though it hadn't been easy.

The doors up ahead of Ian had a sign above them that said 'exit' and Ian made for them, pleased to be home. As he pushed through them, his eyes adjusting to the difference in light, he searched for the familiar face that was Mickey. He couldn't see him. There were plenty of people holding up signs which Ian ignored; where the fuck was Mickey? Another glance at the different heads and Ian had no luck. Weirdly enough, he started looking at feet. He could pick Mickey's feet a mile off.

Suddenly Ian spotted him. He'd been hiding behind a sign. Now, with the sign in front of his chest, Mickey was grinning maliciously at Ian. His sign was bright pink with the word 'nerd' written on it in glitter. Fucking glitter. Ian's cheeks soon matched the colour of the sign as he bustled over to Mickey.

“You're a fucking asshole. Did you make that all by yourself?” Ian taunted and Mickey only grinned wider.

“Child labour. Yev was all too happy to help when I explained that nerd was an affectionate term.” Ian only stared. Mickey was clearly proud of his work; Ian pulled the sign from his hands and awkwardly folded it in half. “Watch the glitter, man!”

“You are so going to fucking pay for this, Milkovich.”

“That's what I was hoping for, Gallagher.”

Neither missed the insinuation behind their words.

\--

“Holy shit!” Ian exclaimed suddenly, sitting up straighter on the couch, his eyes wide as he read his book. Mickey was sat on the floor with the PlayStation console in his hands. He glanced up at Ian, pausing his game.

“What's up?”

“Oh, nothing. Just this book.” Ian answered, his eyes never leaving the pages as one of his hands waved Mickey off. Silence filled the room again, and Mickey focused his attention back onto the game. “Oh, my god!”

“Fucking what, Ian?”

“Sorry, sorry. This book is just so fucking good.” Mickey ignored him, rolling his eyes as he turned back towards the game once more. He didn't even bother to start playing the game again. In his head, he counted down from five. On fucking cue – “No way!”

Mickey tossed his controller on the floor and whirled around, his face full of anger. Ian looked over the top of the book, his face the picture of fucking innocence. “Ian, I swear to fucking god, if you don't shut the fuck up -”

“I'm sorry! It's just so good and -”

“Shut. The fuck. Up.”

–

Mandy was two steps ahead of them before they'd even exited the car, she was so excited. Ian was grinning as they climbed out, hurrying to catch up with her. Mickey was dragging his heels, taking his time to lock the doors.

“Come the fuck on, Mickey!” Mandy called out, tapping her foot as she waited for them to catch up. There were other people milling about, smoking out the front of the small stadium or talking to friends. Ian reached Mandy, smiling at her as they watched Mickey slowly walk over to them. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“I didn't want to come, remember?” Mickey said sullenly as they joined the line of people waiting to get in the door. A woman with bright green hair was standing up ahead and it was her that they would buy their tickets off. “A bunch of girls on skates sounds boring as fuck.”

“Roller derby is the greatest thing that is about to happen to you, Mick. It's my friend's first game and you are going to fucking love it.” Mandy replied, smiling widely at a girl who was walking past. “So suck it up and shut your face.”

Ian enjoyed the game; Mickey fucking loved it. By the time it was over, he was asking Mandy when the next one was and could he go with her? When Mandy went onto the track afterwards to congratulate her friend, Mickey was right there next to her with a weird look on his face, his eyes darting round at all of the players who were skating about, talking to fans. Ian wanted to laugh at him. He was half expecting Mickey to turn to Ian and say he wanted to buy skates for his self.

–

“Five years next month.” Ian mumbled sleepily. He could feel his self starting to drift off but a thought occurred to him first. “Remember we were talking about getting a dog?”

“Yeah.” Mickey sounded as if he was asleep already.

“We should get one after our anniversary. Yev would love it.” 

“M'kay.”

“I should ask you for more things when you're half asleep.”

\--

“Mick? Can you come over to Fiona's? Carl's in trouble again.”

“Again? Jesus. I'll be there soon.”

Ian hung up the phone, frowning at Carl who was sitting on the couch in Fiona's living room, his face sullen and staring into his lap. Fiona was standing over him, her eyes boring holes into the top of his head. Ian didn't miss being on the receiving end of that look; it had happened many times as he'd grown up.

“Thanks, Ian.”

“Why did you have to call Mickey?” Carl mumbled; Ian knew it would have an affect on him. He looked up to Mickey in an odd way, and would always ask for stories of Mickey's childhood, about the shit Mickey would get in to. Mickey was flattered most of the time – though he avoided stories that involved his dad – and Ian thought it was sweet. He knew Carl would be embarrassed in front of Mickey and both he and Fiona hoped it would fucking work. “This is nothing to do with him.”

“No, it's not, but someone needs to try and talk sense into you.” Ian said tiredly. It was the third time that Carl had been brought home in the back of a police car. Twice for stealing and now for attempting to buy drugs. Thank fuck it was Tony who had found him on all three occasions – any other cop and Carl would be in juvie. Ian had been visiting Fiona when Tony had knocked on the door, a red-faced Carl at his side, and Ian had suggested calling Mickey straight away. He had always liked the fact that Mickey got on with his family, and maybe it would be a real advantage, now.

Mickey was there in no time, not bothering to knock and coming straight inside. Fiona gave him a relieved smile and he lifted his eyes in greeting to them both, taking in Carl who was still in the same spot on the sofa.

“The fuck is going on?”

“This fuckin' idiot -” Fiona gestured to the embarrassed lump on the couch that was Carl. “Has got himself in trouble again. This time he was caught tryin' to buy coke in the hopes of becoming a dealer his self.”

Mickey shook his head, sitting down on the chair opposite Carl who was slowly shrinking further into the furniture. “Are you fucking stupid?”

Fiona smirked, backing out of the room and leaving Mickey to it. Ian sat down to listen. Carl's face was growing red – either with shame or anger – and he refused to look at Mickey. “No.”

“Sounds to me like you are.”

“Fuck off. I don't even know why you're here.” Carl shot out, finally lifting his head and glaring at Mickey who didn't give a single fuck.

“Believe me, I don't know why I'm here, either. I don't give a shit what you do and if it was up to me, I'd drop your ass at juvie myself.” Mickey said, leaning back in the chair and stretching out his legs casually.

“Then why did you come?”

“Because your sister doesn't know what to do with you – the fuck are you thinking?”

“I just want to make some money!” Carl exploded, anger crossing his face. Ian raised one eyebrow at Mickey and saw Fiona peek around from the kitchen. “Jesus – you all act like you're fucking better than me. Weren't you doing drug runs at my age? Ian was a fucking dancer at some bullshit club – Fiona would regularly steal or cheat people out of things we needed. I step up to the plate and I get fucking knocked down!”

“Jesus christ, Carl! That was back when things were shit. Fiona had no money – we had no choice!” Ian yelled, his own anger getting the best of him. He leaned forward in his seat. “Things are different now and you know it. Fiona has a job, you guys aren't stuck for money.”

“And me doing drug runs has no bearing on what you do now.” Mickey put in, his eyes narrowed.

“Bullshit. So it was okay for you to do that shit but not me?” Carl demanded, challenging Mickey with his eyes.

“Sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up and I'll tell you a fucking story, shall I?” Mickey stood up and leaned over Carl, rage emanating from him. “Here's the difference between me and you, Carl. I grew up in a house where taking drugs, buying drugs, and selling drugs was just what you fucking did. Everyday. Drugs for breakfast. Lunch, fucking dinner. My dad didn't have a regular job, he was a thug, a thief. My mum died when I was young and she was the only positive influence I'd had and within a week, my life turned around. I was going on drug runs, shaking people down for money. There was shit all I could do about it because that was the way of life for me. There was no fucking nurture, no care, no love in my childhood.”

“But -”

“I said shut the fuck up! Now, let's cut to the Gallagher household, shall we? What do we have here? A house full of siblings that love and care for each other, look out for each other. A big sister who does whatever she can to make sure you all make it to the next day with clothes on your back and food on your plate. A brother who studies hard at college so he can get a job to support his family. Another brother who is diagnosed with a mental illness and is somehow still a rock for the family, even continuing to work – however the fuck he did it – before his diagnosis so that he could support you all. And now that things are better, and the big sister has a full time job with benefits, you suddenly decide it's time to start dealing?” Mickey was out of breath and he slumped back down onto the seat he'd vacated, glaring at Carl. Ian was trying not to look at Mickey; he didn't want to see the pain or hurt there. Mickey had never talked about his past like that before. Ian just wanted to hug him.

“Are you listenin' to him?” Fiona was back, standing behind Mickey with one hand on her shoulder. She'd evidently been watching from the kitchen doorway. Mickey didn't acknowledge her, but kept glaring at Carl.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“I'm sorry, okay? Fuck, is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes, Carl! And maybe a 'I'm not gonna do it again'?” Fiona shouted, shaking her head in disbelief. Carl had had enough. He stood up and headed for the stairs, stomping his feet up each one. Fiona stared after him, letting him go. “I'll talk to him again later when he's calmed down. Tony said he was hangin' with this kid whose been caught before for dealin'. You guys can take off if you want.”

Ian nodded, keeping one eye on Mickey who was staring at the spot Carl had just left. “Shall we go?”

Fiona looked down at Mickey and gestured for Ian to leave. He moved through to the small entranceway but didn't leave open the front door yet; he wanted to hear what Fiona was going to say. 

“Thanks, Mickey. For comin' over and helpin' out.”

Ian could just imagine Mickey shrugging, always keeping his tough barriers up. It was only ever Ian that saw him when they were down. “It's okay. No big deal.”

“It is a big deal. I know it isn't easy for you to talk about that stuff with your dad – I know it would have got through to Carl. So thank you.” There was silence and Ian took a step closer to the door, straining to keep as silent as possible. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” A moment of silence – Fiona had a way of making people talk without actually saying anything. “I just wish I'd known you guys growing up. Maybe I would have had a better time.”

“Maybe. But you wouldn't be the person you are now, and you're pretty fuckin' special. I know – that's fuckin' lame, but you are, Mickey. Ian is lucky to have you, and we're lucky to have you in the family.” Ian felt tears springing to his eyes at Fiona's words. Sounds of movements made him jump slightly and he opened the front door as quietly as he could, desperately wiping his eyes. After a moment or two – Ian wondered if Fiona had hugged Mickey – Mickey came towards the door and nodded for them to leave. 

\--

Mickey had been jumping over all kinds of hurdles in his relationship with Ian. It had only been a month but already he'd held hands with Ian while they'd been out; Mickey had never held hands with anyone other than his sister, and the last time he'd done that was when he was a kid. Everything about their relationship was new, and it scared the shit out of Mickey, but he didn't want to back out. 

Ian had stayed over – only for the fifth or sixth time – and they were lying in bed the next morning. Mickey would never admit it but he had found he fucking loved cuddling, especially when he was the one being cuddled. They were lying on their sides, Ian with his arm over Mickey's torso.

“Hey, did I tell you that Hitomi was asking about you the other day?” Ian asked, his breath warm on Mickey's neck, sending goosebumps up and down his back. He shivered slightly.

“No, what'd she say?”

“She just wanted to know all about my new boyfriend. It was like something from high school.” Ian was laughing softly but Mickey's whole body tensed up at the word 'boyfriend'. He'd never been called that before, not once. Yet another hurdle to leap over but Mickey wasn't sure he knew how to do this one. He wasn't sure why it made him feel weird, but it did. Boyfriend. The word reverberated around and around in his head, echoing. Ian picked up on the change in atmosphere straight away. “You okay?”

Carefully, because he didn't want to upset Ian, Mickey extracted himself from Ian's arms and turned in the bed to face him. He bit his lip, running his thumb over his bottom lip. “I've never been anyone's boyfriend before.”

“Never?”

“Never.” Mickey felt small, stupid. Ian was looking at him like he was the most precious thing in the world and he'd never had someone look at him like that before; it was unnerving and wonderful and terrifying. 

“Is it okay that I call you my boyfriend?”

“Yes.” More than anything, Mickey wanted to be Ian's boyfriend. That didn't change the fact that he felt weird hearing that word and knowing it meant him. He wanted to get used to it, though. Mickey didn't want anything to ruin what was slowly growing between him and Ian. 

“Then that settles it.” Ian grinned, proudly declaring that, “I've got you. You're mine, Milkovich.”

Mickey leaned closer in the bed, pressing his lips to Ian's firmly and enjoying the softness of them. “Say it again.”

“You're mine. You're mine.” Ian whispered, deepening the kiss and sending shivers up and down Mickey's spine. With each whispered word, Mickey felt himself being taken away from everything. “I got you.”

Quietly, still unsure – but somehow never more certain of anything at the same time – Mickey whispered back, “And I got you, man.” And it was fucking lame and he felt like an idiot but this was Ian, and Ian wouldn't laugh at him.

Ian's smile lit up the room and sent Mickey spiralling into a world where Ian was the only real thing, the only thing he had ever wanted or needed. It was the two of them. Nothing else mattered.

–

One Month and One Week After//

Making the transition back to his old home, his old bedroom, was a weird move for Ian. He'd finally felt like his own person when he'd finally moved out and into his own place – nothing against his family, but he needed that space to help clear his own head. Now, though, he was back and although it was only Carl and Liam living at home with Fiona and Mike, Ian still felt like he shouldn't be there. Which was true, in a way; he should be with Mickey. Fiona had been great about it all. She'd left him alone when he wanted to be alone and took his mind off of the situation when he was down. Liam was so focused on school but it meant Ian could help with any homework. He talked to Ian all about how he wanted to go to college just like Lip; sometimes Ian found it hard to believe that Liam was growing up so well compared to the rest of their childhoods. Liam had hugged Ian hard one day and told him that everything would be alright; Ian had cried his self to sleep that night.

He knew Fiona was worried about him. Shit, they all were. Debbie had visited multiple times in the week that he'd been back home, and Mandy called him almost daily to ask how he was. It almost made it harder, though, because he knew Mandy would see Mickey. It was hard for Ian to not ask how Mick was doing, but he didn't think any good would come of it. Not really. Ian was doing his best to keep his mind off of it. Work was helping a little, and Hitomi had taken him out to lunch a few times, too. Her belly was so swollen and the pregnancy talk had helped Ian forget what was going on in his own life.

Fiona liked to talk to him in the evenings before bed. She would come in with a coffee or something to eat and sit on his bed, chatting about everything and nothing. In whispers, she told him all about how Mike wants to have kids with her but she isn't sure. It did the trick, though; Ian didn't think about Mickey, at least until she walked out of the room.

It didn't matter, though, how many people were worried about him. It was a shit situation and he just had to wade through it and hope that it would get easier and easier to deal with. Break ups were one thing, though; having your partner forget who the fuck you were was a whole other ball game.

It was a Saturday, which meant a sleep in and no work. He could smell breakfast cooking, though, and for the first time that week woke with a smile on his face. As he slowly climbed out of bed and stretched, he heard Fiona talking. It was a female voice that replied, though, and Ian realised it was Mandy. He rustled around on the floor for a clean t-shirt and shoved it on, already feeling the heat. His boxer shorts would have to do; it was too hot for anything else. He descended the stairs but as he got closer, he heard his name. He paused on the staircase and listened.

“He's doin' okay. Strugglin' but we knew that. I'm keepin' an eye on him.” It was Fiona's voice, full of concern. Ian could hear the sound of bacon sizzling in the pan – the smell of it was making his stomach growl with hunger but he stayed put, wanting to listen some more.

“I worry about him so much. It's not fair.” Mandy was saying, her voice moving around. Ian wondered if she was helping Fiona in the kitchen. “Mickey doesn't even want to talk about him. It doesn't matter what I say, nothing registers or triggers anything.”

“Jesus, really?” Fiona replied. Ian felt his stomach twist and knew he couldn't listen to any more. He thumped on the stairs a few times to make it sound like he was coming down from the top before stepping down the last few and into view.

“Morning! Mandy – hey!” His voice sounded falsely bright but if the girls noticed, they didn't say anything. Mandy came over to hug him as Fiona gestured towards the breakfast.

“I thought a cooked breakfast was in order. Mandy is gonna eat with us, too.”

“Is everyone else still asleep?” Ian asked and Fiona shook her head.

“Mike had to run into the office, Carl is out somewhere and Liam is at a friend's house. It's just us.”

Ian smiled at his sister and turned to Mandy. “How's things?”

Such a loaded question, and both Mandy and Fiona knew it. Mandy tugged on his arm and pulled him through to the living room. They sat down on the couch, Mandy draping one leg over his. They were so comfortable together. Ian didn't want Mickey's situation to ruin their friendship. “Things are okay. Work is busy.” 

“Come on, Mandy. You know what I'm asking.”

“He's doing okay, Ian. Improving little by little. The book is helpful.” Mandy said carefully – Ian could tell she wasn't sure how much to say.

“Yeah? I'm glad I was good for something.”

Mandy frowned at him; her eyes were sad. “I know this isn't easy for you, Ian. The book did help, though. He noticed the cut pictures and said it felt like someone was missing -”

“Did you mention me?” Ian hated the hope in his voice. It was childish and stupid and just fucking ridiculous. He couldn't help it, though; he wanted Mandy to tell him that yes, Mickey remembered him. But deep down he knew it wasn't going to happen.

“Of course I did. I did heaps in the beginning but Ian...he gets mad when I do. It's hard for him because he doesn't remember you, so it makes him angry that I try to force it. It takes it out of him too easily – he sleeps a lot at the moment.” Mandy told him, her eyes searching Ian's face. He felt the familiar swoop of sadness but ignored it. He didn't want to upset Mandy too much.

“Thank you for being honest with me.” He said, hoping she knew how grateful he was. “Let's change the subject. What the fuck is going on between you and Grace?”

Mandy laughed, though it didn't seem genuine, and she suddenly avoided Ian's eye. “Nothing – what are you on about?”

“I just felt like something was sparking up between you two again. Am I right?” Ian asked, watching her carefully. She bit her lip – a classic Milkovich trait – and looked at him.

“You might be. I don't know. It's been fucking ages since we were together.”

“Why did you break up again?”

“It just..wasn't working. We were young, didn't really know how a good relationship worked.” Mandy shrugged, brushing it off but Ian could see there was more to it than that. He didn't want to push it if she wasn't willing to talk about it yet.

“Well, you're both older and wiser, now. And if I've learnt anything, it's that you should go for what you want. You never know when it'll be lost.”

Mandy's heartbreak showed right on her face and she gripped Ian's hand tightly. They had somehow circled back to Ian, back to Mickey, back to the elephant in the room. “How are you doing?”

It was Ian's turn to shrug, half a smile on his face. “I don't know. I have good days and bad days.”

“What's today?”

“A good day, now.” Ian smiled warmly at her, glad that he had not lost her, too. Fiona called out from the kitchen and Ian's stomach gave another growl of hunger. “Come on. Let's go eat.”


	16. Cigarette Daydreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can see you standing next to me, in and out somewhere else right now, you sigh, look away, I can see it clear as day. Close your eyes, so afraid. Hide behind that baby face."

_Two Months After//_

Mickey had been home for a month now, and everyday he was beginning to remember more and more. The thing that he kept fucking forgetting, though, was who the fuck Debbie was. Mandy had brought her over once not long after Mickey had come home; he didn't know who she was and it had been a stressful meeting. Mandy had kept fucking trying, though – but it worked. Slowly, Mickey built up an idea of who she was in his head and it stuck. The book helped – she was in there once or twice. Mickey liked her. She gave him shit and he didn't mind it; he realised one day that almost all of the women in his life gave him shit. He was surrounded by women who were stronger than he was and he had no problem with that whatsoever. His dad on the other hand would probably have some sort of fit over it. Mickey loved the ways in which his life defied his dad.

He knew who Debbie was. It took a few weeks, but he finally remembered her when she called or turned up on his doorstep. That was a pretty big deal, really; to meet someone as new, like you'd never met them before, and to slowly remember over each visit. It was a really big fucking deal. Mandy had explained how Mickey knew Debbie back when she first came to visit but Mickey had since forgotten; he didn't think it was important, anyway. They had a weird relationship now. Mickey knew that they used to be good friends, and he could see why, but they weren't quite there yet. She would come over randomly with kids – they weren't hers, Mickey remembered, but he never remembered their names – and talk to him about random things. Sometimes she played video games with him. Sometimes she didn't even bring the kids; she would come on her own with a movie that he always ended up liking. Debbie seemed to know him well and he liked it.

The only other new person that Mickey had to get used to and try to remember was Sally, the nurse that would come each day to help him out. Mickey had always found older people creepy but Sally was younger than her body showed. She would often finish cooking or cleaning for him and sit down with a coffee and just talk. Mickey would listen to her ramble on about her late husband or her children who lived in different countries, and wonder if she'd told him any of this before. Whether he was forgetting things or not, she was nice to talk to, though, and nothing like a nurse at all. After checking his 'vitals' – which Mickey thought was ridiculous because aside from his injured brain and his arm in a cast, he was fucking fine – she would help out with odd things around the house. Mickey would find his self getting tired easily and so things like the dishes or washing would start to pile up. He'd once heard Mandy talking to Sally and had found out that her stories were a technique to help him remember things that were a little more lost inside Mickey's brain. It hadn't worked so far.

Mickey had just waved goodbye to Sally at the front door and was about to close it when Debbie's car pulled up alongside the kerb outside his house. He had only just recently started to remember what it looked like; he was always confused right up until the person climbed out, usually. Debbie was on her own, today, but carrying a box along with her usual bag. As soon as she got to the front door, Mickey could smell donuts.

“Hey, Mickey.” Debbie greeted, smiling at him and waiting on the front step like she usually did.

“You can come in. I know who you are.” Mickey rolled his eyes as she did as he had said. “You don't have to do that any more.”

“I worry that one day you won't be so sure. I don't want you to think I'm some random person. Nice to know you didn't lose your attitude, though.” Debbie laughed, referring to his eye roll. He closed the front door and followed her – and the scent of the donuts – through to the living room where she made herself at home, as she usually did. “I bought donuts on the way here and it was so fucking hard not to eat them all.”

Mickey sat down next to her and waited patiently. He'd had an awful headache that morning and wasn't keen on doing much else other than eating donuts. Debbie put them on the table in front of them before taking a DVD out of her bag. Mickey eyed it up. “What's that, then?”

“Die Hard. We watched this a few weeks ago but you fell asleep. I want to try it again. It used to be one of your favourites and don't tell anyone, but it's my favourite, too.” Debbie explained, grinning at him. There was always something about Debbie that he couldn't place. Mickey would watch her when she didn't realise or when she was talking – it was in her eyes. He knew there was a memory there somewhere, but he just put it down to knowing her before his accident and his brain trying to remember that. “That okay?”

“Of course. Thanks for the food. Do you want a drink?”

“I'll get us one.” Debbie answered, popping up from her seat to head into the kitchen. Mickey picked up the DVD case while she was gone and studied it. She returned quickly and swiped it from him to take out the actual disk. Mickey watched her and picked up on something in her expression, something he'd noticed before.

“Are you okay?” He asked carefully. They weren't best of friends; their chats never went past whatever the fuck they were doing at the time, which was usually a movie. There was something in her face, though. It prickled at Mickey and he had to address it.

“What? Sure I am – why?”

“You always look at me with a sad face.” Mickey said quietly, not wanting to upset her. She busied herself with setting up the DVD and didn't answer for a moment. Mickey waited patiently, using the remote to turn the TV down as the piracy warnings began on screen.

“I'm just sorry for what you've lost, Mickey.” Debbie spoke carefully, choosing her words as best she could. Mickey frowned; he didn't feel like he'd lost anything. He still had his son, his house, he had his life for fuck's sake. He could have died but he didn't. Debbie didn't elaborate, though.

“I haven't lost anything.” Mickey said simply, but even as he said it, he saw Debbie's eyes and the way they reminded him of something, somewhere. It fucked him off to no end – he felt like someone was dangling a carrot in front of him, one he would never reach. Instead of telling Debbie how he felt, though, he focused on the TV and waited until she finally got the hint and pressed play. Music sounded out from the speakers as pictures started to fill the screen but Mickey's mind was elsewhere; what was he forgetting?

–

“Dad!” Yevgeny's shrill voice cut straight through Mickey's head and sent a wave of pain through him. He gritted his teeth and opened his arms as Yev launched his body at his dad, grinning as Mickey whirled him around. “How's your head?”

“Oh, you know.” Mickey answered, knowing that if he gave Yev the full run down of how he'd been feeling for the last few days, the kid would be overwhelmed. “I'm doing okay. Where's mum?”

“She's just bringing in some stuff from the car. Can I play on the PlayStation?”

Mickey laughed lightly, nodding his head and watched Yevgeny run off towards the living room. It was still astounding to Mickey that Yevgeny was ten. According to Svetlana, when he'd first seen him in the hospital, he'd freaked out. Not surprising, seeing as his brain seemed to remember Yev being around four or five years old. He'd managed to remember now and no longer did a double take when he saw Yev, but it was still an odd thing to come to terms with. Mickey didn't like to dwell on the things he was missing from his memory; birthday parties, school plays. There must be so many things he was forgetting.

Svetlana caught his attention as she began walking towards the door, a few bags in her hands. She'd done his grocery shopping for him. He took a few steps out and tried to help her but she shook her head firmly. “I got this. Doctor said you should not strain yourself.”

“It's a few bags of shopping, Svet. I think I got it.” Mickey whined, standing back and letting her past. He closed the front door behind them and followed her through into the kitchen, his eyes flicking over Yev who was busy racing his car on the game. “I'm getting better and better everyday, you know.”

“I know this. You know this. But what if you push too much and go backwards? I don't want that to happen.”

“Get me anything good, then?” Mickey demanded, changing the subject with a smirk on his face. He sat down at the table and began pulling things out of the bags that she'd stuck there. It was the only way she would let him help. He pulled up a bunch of bananas and wrinkled his nose. “What's all of this healthy shit?”

Svetlana slapped his hand lightly and yanked them out of his grip, tutting at him. “You'll get what you're given. You need to eat healthy.”

“What the fuck ever. I never did before my accident, why should I now?” Mickey retorted, peering into the other bags like a little kid. He spotted chocolate and some of his favourite chips and grinned. 

“Grace is going to bake some dishes for you and bring tomorrow. I'll write down on the board because you might forget.” Svetlana and Yevgeny had bought Mickey a small whiteboard and would leave notes for him or reminders. It had worked well in the beginning; Mickey would find food in his fridge or a pile of clean laundry on his bed and have no idea how it got there. He was using it less and less.

“How's work?”

“Work is work. How is head doing?” Svetlana asked, her own head inside the cupboard as she arranged a bunch of cans. “Still waking up with headaches?”

“Everyday but I take painkillers for those. I keep getting dizzy really easily – all I have to do is move my head slightly and I'm fucked. It's really annoying. It usually goes away reasonably quickly but it's still fucking annoying.”

“You talk to doctor about this?” She was eyeing him up, her gaze sharp as she studied his face. “Or you shut up because Milkovich can handle anything?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, ignoring the pain it caused his head. “Yes, I spoke to Dr Gray when he was over last – I think I did, anyway. But I told Sally, too.”

“Good, good.” She muttered. Moving quickly, she tidied away the plastic bags, popped her head around the corner to check on Yevgeny and then set to work chopping up all kinds of vegetables. “I make you soup, delicious Russian one. I bought more containers so you can store it in freezer and pull it out whenever you want.”

“What'd I do to deserve you?” Mickey said dully and Svetlana waved the knife in her hand at him. “I'm kidding, jesus. Thank you.”

Mickey watched as Svetlana seemed to wrestle with herself before taking a breath and turning to him. “I want to tell you that Yevgeny is staying with his friend Liam tonight. He is being picked up from here and I will hang out with you for awhile.”

“Okay?” Mickey responded slowly. He had no idea why Svetlana was acting as if she had to tell him a meteor was headed for earth. He shrugged his shoulders. “I don't remember his friends but I'm sure you know what you're doing.”

“Of course I do.” She said bluntly, as if Mickey had said the stupidest thing possible. “But Liam is Debbie's brother.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow. “And? I know who Debbie is.”

“Debbie is Ian's brother. They all one big family.”

Mickey stayed silent, his brain running overtime as he tried to remember who Ian was. Ian. The name was ringing all kinds of bells and his first instinct when he heard it was to smile, but then anger took over. And he had no idea why. He had no fucking clue who this Ian was. “I don't know him, do I?”

Svetlana sighed deeply, putting her knife down and turning to him. Her eyes were shining but Mickey was sure it was only because of the onions she was currently chopping. “You did know him, yes. Carrot boy. You remember?”

Like it was that simple, Mickey thought bitterly. “No. I don't remember.”

She let out a frustrated noise and went back to her vegetables, wiping her eyes on her sleeve as she did so. Mickey frowned; someone had brought up Ian before. Mandy, most likely. She was always trying to make him remember things. There was some significance in his name but Mickey couldn't place it. It was someone he used to know for sure but for whatever reason, his brain wasn't remembering him. Mickey wasn't too bothered; if all he could think of was anger at his name, 'Ian' couldn't be worth remembering.

Svetlana was chopping the vegetables roughly, mumbling something in Russian and Mickey found that he just couldn't be bothered continuing the conversation. “I'm gonna go watch Yev play.”

“Yevgeny is being picked up in ten minutes.” Svetlana said simply, and he realised there was a hint of anger in her voice. Before he could reply, there was a knock at his front door and Svetlana frowned, putting the knife down. “He is early.”

Mickey made to head to the front door but Svetlana pushed past him and barked something at Yevgeny in Russian as she went through the living room. He jumped up and ran towards Mickey, holding his arms out for a hug. “See you soon, dad!”

Mickey couldn't reply in time; Yev was out the door in an instant, a one armed hug for Svetlana as he went through. Mickey was slowly making his way over to the front door – he could hear the deep male voice of whoever was picking Yevgeny up and Mickey wanted to see who it was. Too late, though – Svetlana shut the front door and turned to him with a 'that's that' expression on her face. Mickey frowned at her and moved to the window. A tall red head was climbing into the front seat of a car and talking animatedly to Yevgeny.

“Is that Ian, then?”

“Yes. You know him now?”

“No, Svetlana. I don't fucking know him now.”

–

It took everything in Ian not to walk inside the house that used to be his. His and Mickey's. It was weird standing at the front door and saying goodbye to Svetlana, knowing that Mickey was inside somewhere. As Ian turned back down the path and walked around the side of the car to climb in, he was sure he saw a face in the window, peering out. He wouldn't look, though. There was no point. 

Yevgeny and Liam had become unlikely friends. There wasn't much of an age gap but they'd known each other for as long as Ian had known Mickey and Fiona liked that Liam kept their friendship going. The sleepover had been Ian's idea; Svetlana had been complaining that Yev would tire Mickey out without really realising it and that Mickey didn't have the heart to tell Yev to quiet down. She wanted to spend time with Mickey and cook for him without Yevgeny getting in the way; Ian had suggested looking after Yev. It wasn't the first time. He'd picked Yevgeny up from school a few times when Svetlana had been stuck at Mickey's.

Ian pulled up outside his sister's house and Yevgeny was already out of the car, running towards the front door. With a grin on his face, Ian followed him in but at a much more regular pace. By the time Ian made it into the house, Yevgeny was nowhere to be seen but he could hear laughing upstairs. He took a deep breath in; someone was baking. Fiona came out of the kitchen and gave him a smile, a mixing bowl and kitchen towel in her hands as she dried it. 

“Everythin' go okay?” It was a question with so much more behind it; a lot could have gone wrong with Ian picking up Yev from Mickey's. Ian shrugged, heading towards the kitchen and the source of the smell. Trays of freshly baked cookies lay out on the counter cooling. Fiona saw him eyeing them up and picked one up, handing it to him. 

“Thanks.” Ian mumbled, already munching on a mouthful of the chocolate chip cookie. It was still warm from the oven. “It went fine.”

“No dramas?”

“No dramas.” Ian replied, sitting at the kitchen table and running a hand through his hair. It needed a cut. Mickey always liked it short. “Still doesn't know who I am.”

Fiona sighed deeply from the kitchen sink where she was washing the rest of the dishes. “I know it isn't easy, Ian. Today was a big step, goin' over there.”

“It didn't feel like a big step. It felt like a step backwards.” Ian thought for a moment, chewing his lip slightly. Something occurred to him. “He doesn't know who he is.”

“The Mickey he knows is the Mickey he is now. I know that's hard for you to come to terms with but -”

“Fi, he doesn't know who he is. Mandy told me he came out to her a few weeks ago – like he wasn't living with his boyfriend for five fucking years!” He wasn't sure where the anger was coming from, but he could feel it slowly bubbling up inside of him. It felt good to feel something other than despair. “That empty person who lives in that house now – that's not Mickey.”

Fiona sighed again as she dried her hands on the towel and set it aside. She came around to the table and sat down opposite him, giving Ian a stern look. “No, Ian. That is not the Mickey you fell in love with. Head injuries fuck you over – they can change parts of your personality. He's not the same Mickey.”

“Bullshit.” Ian shot out. Fiona flinched slightly and for a moment he felt bad for letting it all out on her but what else could he do? He wasn't going to take it out on Mickey. Maybe he should, he thought angrily. “That's fucking bullshit.”

“Where are you goin'?” Fiona demanded; Ian had stood up swiftly, pushing the chair back roughly behind him. “Ian – where are you goin'?”

Ian didn't answer. It wasn't Fiona he wanted answers from. It was Mickey. And he was going to fucking get them. Before his sister could stop him, Ian was snatching up the keys and stomping out the front door and down to his car. He pretended he couldn't hear Fiona calling him from the front step. He shut off the voice inside his head that was telling him how stupid this was. Ian drove towards his old home with only one intention. That was to yell at Mickey.

Svetlana's car was still outside but it didn't deter Ian. He was fucking mad and he needed to do something about it. He swung the car up to the kerb and put it in park, not bothering to lock it. By the time he was at the front door, he was puffing heavily and trying to catch his breath before the door opened. Svetlana was there, her face full of worry as she searched his own face.

“Ian? What is wrong – is Yevgeny okay?” Svetlana's voice was panicked but only for a moment; Ian's face was enough to tell her that Yev was fine. She lowered her voice after a quick glance over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“I'm coming in.” Ian answered, moving past her and into the house. For a moment he was hit with a wave of emotion; this had been his home for four years. It looked different, though; this was not the same place he had known. It was foreign to him. Ian found Mickey straight away; he came out of the hallway and into the living room, a glass of water in his house. He stared at Ian with a confused look and it only made Ian angrier.

“Who the fuck are you?” Ian didn't expect anger from Mickey, though it was probably better described as confusion. The two men stared at each other for a moment as Ian waited, waited for something to register with Mickey. For him to click his fingers and remember who Ian was. It didn't happen. It was never going to happen.

“Ian. I'm Ian. I was your boyfriend. We were together for five years. And you don't fucking remember me.”

Mickey laughed – he fucking laughed – harshly and shook his head. “Bullshit. I ain't no fuckin' queer.”

It was Ian's turn to laugh, long and loud. He shook his head and stared at Mickey evenly. “I know you better than you think. You love me, and you're gay.”

“Look, man – I don't know who the fuck you are but I don't appreciate you pushing your way in here and coming at me -”

“I used to live here.” Ian was shaking, his whole body was shaking with anger. “I used to live here with you. Don't you remember?”

“Fuck, dude – you're delusional.” 

“I lived here with you. I slept in that bed with you. I had you, Mickey! You were fucking mine – can't you remember?” Ian wanted to shake him, rattle him. Make him feel something, see something. He couldn't, though. Fuck. It was hard, it was hard to see nothing in Mickey's eyes. 

Mickey looked past Ian, through him, at Svetlana. “Can you get this fucking crack head outta here? He's giving me a fucking headache.”

Ian ignored the pain on Mickey's face, he ignored the way he was now holding head head as if it was about to fall apart. All Ian could see was the years they'd spent together slowly fading away. Svetlana put an arm on his but he shook it roughly. “One day, Mick, you're going to remember me. You're going to remember every fucking thing we had. And I won't be there.”

It was a lie. It was a lie. It was a lie. The words chanted through Ian's head as he stormed out of the house without a look back. It was a lie. He didn't want to look at Svetlana – shame at what he'd just done was rushing in on him – and he certainly didn't want to see how little his words had affected Mickey. It was a lie. It was pointless. He should not have come over. He should not have shouted. He should not have done anything. His emotions had got the better of him and Ian felt like he'd had no other option. It was a lie. It was a lie. He would be there for Mickey. He would always fucking be there. Mickey had him forever, whether he knew it or not.

Now, though, as he drove through the streets of Chicago – he wasn't ready to head home yet – he was calming down. The shame at his actions was hitting him hard and his hands were clenching the steering wheel tightly. He felt like a fucking idiot, to put it simply. He'd rushed over there, wanting to demand answers from Mickey but had clearly lost all recollection of the fact that Mickey had no fucking memory of him. He couldn't answer Ian's questions. No one could.

Ian realised that tears were falling from his eyes but he wasn't sure for how long he'd been crying. He was having constant waves of different emotions; for the most part, he was getting through the day okay and dealing with it all. But then there were days when everything would catch up with him in one big rush and he would collapse into bed and never want to leave it. Those were the days when he would get in his car after work and head for Mickey's house before realising that that wasn't his home any more. The same days that he would open up a new text message and come so close to sending one to Mickey. Sometimes he toyed with the idea of just sending one. Mickey wouldn't know who it was from and would assume it was a wrong number; Ian would get peace of mind.

But not for long, really. Texting Mickey would only make him feel better for so long before he remembered the reality of the situation. Mickey would delete the text and not give it a second thought. Ian would be left thinking about it all night.

Ian turned a corner into a random street; he wasn't entirely sure where he was but he had his phone and knew he'd be able to get home. He pulled over and turned the car off, listening to the different noises of the street. Cars passed him, birds chirped up in the tree outside. Life went on around him. He watched a couple walking down towards him. As they passed, he glared at their linked hands. They had no idea how good they had it. It made Ian want to jump out of the car and yell at them, tell them to appreciate everything they had.

As it usually did these days, Ian's phone started ringing. He knew without looking that it would be Svetlana. Or Mandy. Or Fiona. Someone looking out for him. He didn't want to deal with it right now. He felt a mixed bag of emotions and talking to someone would only make him cry. He was exhausted enough as it was without someone trying to talk him into being okay with everything. He wasn't sure he would ever be okay with it all; every time he thought he might be able to get over it, Mickey's eyes or smile or face would pop into his head and all of that was lost.

For the first time since the accident, Ian opened up the images folder on his phone. He hadn't looked at any photos – aside from the smiling one of Mickey that was his lock screen – for a long time. There were at least a hundred or possibly two hundred – Ian wasn't about to count. He could count on one hand the amount of photos where Mickey was smiling. He wasn't a photo person, that was for sure. The photos in which Mickey was smiling were ones where Ian had either bribed him or surprised him with a camera in his face.

Ian couldn't delete them. No fucking way. Instead, he selected them all except for his lock screen photo and sent them to the permanent storage app on his phone. Once they were saved there, where he didn't have to see them every time he took a photo, he deleted them from his gallery. One by one, they disappeared until there was only the one photo left. It was taken on a sleepy Sunday morning. Ian had been playing a game on his phone when Mickey had woken up and demanded cuddles; it was the one thing about Mickey that Ian loved to keep to his self. Mickey fucking loved being cuddled. Ian had snaked his arm under Mickey's neck, phone in hand, and as Mickey had smiled at the contact, Ian had smiled over his shoulder and taken the photo. It was perfect and there was no way he could get rid of it. Not yet. He needed to see it every time he unlocked his phone.

There was one last thing he needed to do, though. The tears had stopped. They had dried on his face and left his face feeling itchy. Wiping them furiously, Ian took a deep breath and opened up the contacts section on his phone. He scrolled down slowly, passing by every other name until he found Mickey's. His contact photo was a grumpy photo Ian had taken after demanding that he smile. Mickey had flipped the camera off and Ian had snapped the shot. It was perfect, really; it summed Mickey up.

It was time for it to be deleted, though. The photo and the contact. Ian ignored the fact that he'd had Mickey's number memorized for the last five years and hit delete. Less than a second and it was gone. No more almost text messages or calls. Ian couldn't stare at the photos any more or contemplate leaving drunk messages on Mickey's voicemail. It was something had needed to happen for a long time but finally Ian felt like he was there. 

His phone was ringing again. This time, he answered it. “Hi, Lana.”

“You! Why you not answer me? I worry sick about you!” When Svetlana was upset, her English tended to break up a little bit. She'd gotten pretty good considering how broken it was in the beginning; according to Mickey, it had used to be hard to understand her. Ian smiled a little at her voice. “Where have you been, carrot boy?”

“Just around. I'm here, though. Is Mickey okay? I feel like an idiot.” Ian confessed, feeling a hint of shame creep back in. His cheeks were warming up.

“He is sleeping but he is okay. Are you?” 

“I will be. I'm sorry.”

Svetlana made a tutting noise and Ian smiled again. “Don't be stupid. I understand how you are feeling, you just go stupid way about it.”

“I know.”

“Where are you? Nurse is coming soon. Let's meet for coffee.”

Ian glanced at the time on the dashboard of his car and sighed. “Actually, I'd rather sleep for now. How about later tonight?”

“If you insist. Promise me you go straight to Fiona? I call her.”

“Yes, Lana. I promise. Straight home.” Ian took a deep breath, his voice wobbly as he continued to speak. “How did we get here?”

He could hear her moving on the other end of the line, shifting in the seat. He imagined her on the couch, his old couch, getting comfortable as she spoke. “We were always going to be here. This is the path for us. We don't have to like it, but we can not change this. We can only deal with it.”

Ian could feel tears stinging his eyes; he felt drained. “I should talk to you more often.”

“You should. Now go and sleep. I call Fiona. You call me when you wake up, yes?”

“I will. Thanks.” Ian mumbled, ending the call and tossing his phone onto the passenger seat. He took a long, deep breath and held it in for a second. In one big rush, he let it out. Letting go was a whole other issue, one he wasn't ready to face. He probably wouldn't be for a long time. But Ian felt as if he'd made a positive step. Whether that step was forwards or backwards, he wasn't sure.


	17. Bridge Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A little time to reminisce before they bridge burn."

_1 Year Before//_

It was after their four year anniversary that the thought first popped into Mickey's head. It took him by surprise and he didn't like it; he shoved it aside and ignored it. But every time Ian would smile at him, or he watched Ian and Yev together – the thought of marriage would creep back into Mickey's mind and prod him softly, gently reminding him of how much he loved Ian. What he would do for him, which was a lot. Getting married...Mickey never saw his self getting married. Like so many other regular things that people just did, Milkoviches didn't really do marriage. Mickey knew of only three relatives who were married. Something to do with paper trails and separate bank accounts, Terry had told him once. Terry hated being married. That alone made Mickey want to marry Ian immediately.

Doubt was ever present in his head, though. Mickey knew that Ian loved him, knew that they had a pretty good relationship. But when he pictured proposing to Ian in his head, he saw Ian shaking his head and saying no. Deep down, he knew this was bullshit. It was this part of his brain that was slowly taking over, though. The paranoid part, the anxious part. The whole week after they had celebrated their fourth year together, Mickey would constantly flip back and forth between wanting to marry Ian more than anything and wanting to run and hide from everything. He knew he should talk to someone about it; Ian, most likely. But he didn't want to. Every time he leaned towards the idea of moving forward with Ian, he knew that he would want to keep it a secret from Ian. Mandy, on the other hand.

“Why the fuck do you need to think about it for?” Sisters were good for nothing except for giving possible life changing advice, apparently. Mickey rolled his eyes – something he did a lot around Mandy – and took a swig of his beer. A quick check to his phone to see that Ian hadn't called; he was at a party with a bunch of his work friends and wanted Mickey to pick him up. “Mickey – are you serious about this?”

“Yes! No – I don't fucking know, Mandy. Maybe.”

“Maybe you want to marry your boyfriend of four years, maybe you don't.” She shrugged her shoulders, threw her hands up in the air. He wanted to throw his drink on her.

“Well, when you fucking put it that way.” Mickey mumbled, gritting his teeth slightly. “Yes. Yes I want to.”

Every now and then, Mandy would surprise him. She was generally not much of a 'girly girl'. He knew that she put on a tough exterior and that she was very similar to him in that way – if you didn't let people know how much you cared, you wouldn't get hurt. But sometimes Mandy would come out with something so stereotypically 'girly' that Mickey had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. At Mickey's words, Mandy clapped her hands together and let out a scream – more of a squeal, really – and grinned at him.

“I can't fucking believe this. My big idiot brother Mickey is going to propose to his boyfriend. I never thought I'd see the fucking day!” Mandy sang out happily, bouncing slightly in her seat. Mickey gave her a moment to have her mini celebration before he gave her a look that told her to shut the fuck up. “Come on, Mick. I'm excited for you. This is exciting. You should be excited!”

“I know it is, but it still feels weird so shut the fuck up.”

Mandy laughed lightly. “Of course it does.”

“It's just such a big fucking deal – what if he doesn't want to?” Mickey said in a hushed tone, lowering his head towards to table as he spoke. Mandy smirked and whacked him over the head.

“Are you fucking stupid? Wait, yes you are. Don't answer that. He is not going to say no, Mick.” Mandy reassured him, as much as she could reassure anyone without being a smart ass about it. “It's a big step but it's the next step for you two. I thought I'd be having this conversation with Ian, not you.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You're hardly the marriage and wedding type, Mickey.” 

Mickey flipped his sister off and downed the last of his drink, burping loudly. “Fuck you. I can be that type.”

“Bullshit. How do you think you'll propose?” Mandy demanded, eyeing him up with her arms folded.

He shrugged heavily, thinking for a moment. “I dunno. On one fucking knee?”

“Wow, Mickey. I guess I was wrong. You clearly are the marriage type.” Mandy replied in a monotone, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Want another beer?”

“Can't, I'm driving to get Ian later. Get me a coke or some shit.”

Mickey waited as his sister flounced up to the bar and ordered the drinks; she was into the bartender here, which he had found out when he'd left it up to her to decide where they would meet for a drink. He watched, cringing slightly, as she tried to act cool and lean one arm on the bar. Her eyes were on the bartender though, and her arm missed the bar; she slipped down the bar and almost whacked her head on it. Mickey laughed loudly and Mandy hastily stood up straight and gave him a look of pure hatred. A few moments later, she was back at their table.

“Smooth.” Mickey commented and Mandy glared at him some more. “He looks like a douchebag, Mandy.”

“I know that!” She hissed back at him. “I just like looking at him. He takes my mind off other things. Now, back to you. Think for a second and then give me some ways you are going to propose to Ian.”

“Christ – did I mention I don't want to do it yet? I thought I'd wait until our fifth year anniversary.”

Mandy stared open mouthed at him. “What the fuck? Why would you tell me about this now? I thought you were planning on doing this fucking as soon as?”

“I wanted to share it with you! Jesus – clearly that was a bad idea.” Mickey took a sip of his drink while Mandy sputtered some more. He lowered his voice before speaking again. “I want it to be special.”

“God, you're so fucking gay sometimes.”

“You know if Ian was here he'd have you for stereotyping.” Mickey said, raising an eyebrow at Mandy. She shrugged.

“He's not here, though, is he?” She took a long gulp of her beer – Mickey now realised he would probably be taking her drunk ass home as well as Ian's. “You know what you should do to propose?”

“Fucking what Mandy?” Mickey demanded, already preparing himself for the ridiculous suggestion Mandy was about to unleash on him.

“Hire one of those planes that trail the words behind them – or get them to write it in smoke in the sky!” She said excitedly and Mickey just stared at her. “Fuck off. What's your idea, then?”

“Fly him to Paris and propose on top of the Eiffel Tower.” His voice completely deadpan, Mickey waited for Mandy to laugh. She tried to fight it and glare at Mickey but it was no use; it was a game now. Mickey fished around in his head for more ideas as Mandy spoke.

“Lame. Take him to a basketball game and propose on the kiss cam.”

“Even fucking lamer!” Mickey shot back, earning a shove from his sister. She took another sip of her drink while Mickey proposed another idea. “I'll bake him a chocolate cake and put the ring inside.”

“You're a shit baker. He'd die of food poisoning before he even got to the ring.” Before Mickey could retaliate – because fuck her, he was the best at making fucking cakes – Mandy was already on to the next idea. “Why don't you hire out a restaurant and band and get them to serenade him?

“Because I'm the best fucking boyfriend and hired a restaurant out for our last anniversary. Get with the fucking programme, Mandy. Maybe I'll hire a hot air balloon and pop the question above Chicago.”

“How fucking romantic. Chicago isn't a nice city, you know.”

“Some people think it's a nice city!” Mickey protested but even as he said it, he knew he was full of shit. Most of the time, he didn't like Chicago much.

“No one thinks it's a nice city.”

“Fuck you. You got any decent ideas?” Mickey questioned, looking up as the bartender appeared with a bowl of fries. He plunked them down on the table. “Did you order fries?”

“I'm hungry as fuck. Thanks!” Mandy was batting her eyelashes at the bartender who was already walking away. Mickey snorted loudly. “You're such an asshole. Take him on a fucking cruise or some shit. Isn't that what couples do?”

“What, and put the ring in a champagne glass?” Mickey added, thinking for a second. “Actually, that's not a bad idea.”

“That's exactly what it is, fuckface. A bad idea. That's hardly personal.”

“What, should I get fucking Yev to do it then?” Mickey shoved a handful of hot fries into his mouth and immediately regretted it. He fanned his hand over his mouth while Mandy smirked.

“Or Liam.” Mandy added. “Maybe Carl?”

“Debbie?”

“Lip?” Mandy snorted and Mickey pictured Lip, forever with a smug expression on his face, helping Mickey propose to Ian. There was no fucking way.

“Or how about the whole fucking family?” Mickey said sarcastically. His mouth had finally stopped burning. “Don't be fucking dumb.”

“Dumb? Who the fuck just suggested putting the ring in a glass of champagne? That's the dumbest cliché ever!”

“Why don't I learn a song and sing it to him?” Mickey suggested lamely, rolling his eyes. A swig of coke and his mouth cooled down further. “Change the lyrics to fit us?”

“What, and sing something about his massive d-”

“Not fucking appropriate, Mandy!”

“Oh my god! You should fucking do a flash mob! Have you seen that shit?”

“A flash mob? Mandy, this is a proposal not fucking drama class.” Mickey responded, ignoring Mandy's dark look. “What about a scrapbook or some shit with photos and then the proposal at the end?”

“You're joking, right? Dude, it's all online these days. A video full of photos and then the proposal at the end would be better.”

“Sorry, dude. I didn't realise how hip you were.” Mandy was glaring again and Mickey grinned. “What if we walk along the fucking beach or through a fucking forest? This is fucking hard!”

“A horse trek?”

Mickey's phone was buzzing. “Now you're just fucking being stupid.”

“That Ian?” Mandy asked as she helped herself to more fries. The bowl was almost empty already. Mickey nodded. “Let me finish this and you can take me home before you get him.”

“Oh, can I?”

Mandy didn't have a smart ass reply, though. With a weird smile on her face, she stared at the wall behind Mickey for a moment before meeting his eyes. “Don't you think it's weird how far we've come? How far you've come?”

“A little. I guess. Yeah.” Mickey mumbled.

“Think about it, though. You used to be the most closeted person in the fucking world and if anyone even mentioned the word gay, you freaked the fuck out. Now you're planning to propose to your boyfriend.”

“I get it, Mandy. I just don't sit around all teary-eyed thinking about it all the fucking time.”

“Neither do I, asshole. I just thought it's nice to appreciate it every now and then!” Mandy shot out, rolling her eyes. “Christ.”

–

_Six Months After//_

The weather was slowly turning; Mickey had first noticed it in the mornings. He would wake up cold and have to bring the blankets up to his chin, shivering slightly until he warmed up. A few weeks ago he'd sleep almost naked; now he was throwing extra blankets on the bed. It wouldn't be long before winter hit them and snow would fall. He wasn't dreading it much this year – he still wasn't back at work after the accident, so there was no need to worry about driving in the snow. It made him feel slightly lonely, though. Sitting alone while the snow fell outside. He almost wished that he had someone to share it with. Mickey wasn't sure who, though.

His home care nurse, Sally, would still visit each day but her visits were shorter and shorter. Mickey was getting better. It was a relief in a way because he felt like a fucking idiot sitting around while Sally would tidy around him. He was going to miss the time off work though, he was sure. Mickey couldn't remember owning his own business – that had been lost after the accident – but in his head, it was hard work. Mickey would help Sally out when he could, however; he didn't want to get back to work and be exhausted on the first day. He figured if he helped out around his own house, his body would slowly get used to working again. Some fucking theory. Just washing the dishes made him need a rest.

Mickey would still get headaches daily, only now they lasted for shorter periods of time. In the beginning – he was glad to be able to remember the 'beginning' – he would have an almost constant headache. Sometimes painkillers wouldn't even touch it. Now, however, he found that if he felt a headache coming on, he would sit for a moment and rest his head and it usually got rid of it. He was happy for this – they fucking hurt sometimes and putting up with them everyday had made him irritable. He'd sometimes take it out on the others – especially Yev who had no idea what he'd done wrong – and then immediately regret it.

Svetlana had stopped cooking so much for him, too. He was quietly glad of that – she wasn't the best cook but he wasn't about to fucking tell her that. Mandy had kept his cupboards stocked up with junk which he was happy for. He wasn't allowed to drive yet so he'd text her at least once a week with a list of things he wanted. Debbie would sometimes come over with food, too; she'd arrived on the doorstep once with a dish full of lasagne and Mickey had finished it in almost one sitting. She'd brought it over once a week after that. He would always remember her face, now. It was a strange feeling, recognising someone. It was a feeling he'd never appreciated before.

Mickey had barely looked at the book Mandy had brought to him on his first day back home in a long time. He didn't really need to, any more. Sometimes, if his sleep was shit or his headache particularly bad, he would forget little things but they would always come back now. Little bits and pieces of his own self was coming back. For one thing, he stopped talking about being gay like it was a dirty little secret. Mandy had consistently told him all about how comfortable he'd been about it and for so long, Mickey hadn't believed her. Now, though, he could feel it changing within him. The word didn't make him cringe. It was who he was.

Nobody mentioned Ian any more. The name stuck with Mickey, though. He wasn't sure why. He didn't remember him, not even a little bit. Mickey knew that Ian had come around to his house and yelled at him, but he didn't remember it. He couldn't remember what their connection had been but if he was going to guess, he would guess that they'd been involved in some way. The only things that he knew about Ian, he knew from other people. But they'd stopped mentioning him now. Ian's name hadn't been spoken in ages. The only difference was that whenever Ian's name would filter into Mickey's thoughts, there was no anger this time. It was just indifference.

Still, he wanted to know a little bit more. He knew Mandy would be cautious about telling him things so Mickey thought he'd try and trick Yevgeny into telling him something. He was over with Svetlana and Mandy for a visit – it was a cold Sunday and they'd planned on heading to the park. Even the fact that Mickey remembered what they'd planned to do made Mickey happy. The weather had changed their plans, though, and Mandy had left the room to use the phone. Svetlana had just got up to go and make them all some lunch when Mickey turned to Yev with a mission on his mind.

“Hey, Yev. How's school?” Fucking ridiculous line of questioning but oh well. Yevgeny stared at him for a moment before answering.

“You already asked me that, remember?”

Shit. He'd forgotten that. “I'm just being silly!” Yev knew something was up. Mickey never said the word silly.

“Dad? Are you okay?”

Mickey could see Yev's eyes flicking to the kitchen where his mom was and knew he was seconds away from calling Svetlana. “Okay, listen. I'm fine. I want to ask you about Ian.”

Yevgeny's eyes widened, a bright smile on his face. Before Mickey could stop him, Yev was calling out happily. “You remember him? Mama! Dad remembers Ian!”

The effect was immediate. Svetlana came rushing through, a piece of bread in one hand and her mouth hanging open. Mandy was shoving her phone into her pocket as she stepped back into the room hastily. Mickey sighed to his self. 

“I don't remember him.” All three of their bodies slumped. Mickey felt like shit. “I'm sorry. I just wanted to know about him.”

Svetlana muttered something under her breath in Russian and disappeared to keep making lunch. Mandy shook her head and came to sit with them. “You idiot. Why are you asking about him?”

“I don't know. I don't remember anything about him but his name. Is that weird?”

“Not really. Brain injuries aren't simple.”

“Thanks, doctor.” Mickey rolled his eyes at his sister. “I don't remember anything else. Not even what he looks like.”

But even as he said it, Mickey knew that wasn't totally the truth. A flash of red passed through his mind, followed by green. Neither colours reminded him of anything – Ian could have green fucking hair for all Mickey knew. Svetlana came into the room with a plate full of sandwiches for them all. Yevgeny tucked in straight away but Mandy was watching Mickey thoughtfully.

“Why do you want to know about him?”

“Curious, I guess?”

Svetlana swallowed her mouthful of food and eyed him up. “His nickname is carrot boy.”

Mickey snorted loudly. “How the fuck did he get that?”

“Dad!” Yevgeny scolded, his eyes flashing just like his mother's in Mickey's direction. Mickey mumbled an apology as Mandy explained.

“Svetlana said he reminds her of a carrot. Tall, red hair. Carrot boy.”

Mickey nodded, wondering if this information would stick with him through to the next day. He wouldn't tell anyone that he hoped it did. “What else? How did I know him?”

He didn't miss the loaded looks Svetlana and Mandy gave each other. He waited – not so patiently – while they figured out what to say. Mandy cleared her throat loudly. “You two were together.”

Together. He had guessed that, in a way. “How?”

“You were in a relationship.”

Partner. Lover. Family. Mickey realised that those words pinned down the feeling that he'd felt like he was missing at different times. The something he wanted to share the cold weather with. The someone that was missing around the house. He pushed the idea aside for now. “Was it serious?”

Mandy sighed slowly, taking her time before replying. She twisted the stud in her nose – a common habit of hers – and studied her nails. “Mickey, what is the point in this?”

“Jesus – I don't know! I'm just asking!” Mickey's speech came out stilted as he reminded his self not to curse with Yev in the room. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“I'm not sure it is helpful when you still don't know who he is.” Svetlana replied, taking over for Mandy. Yevgeny had moved over to sit in front of the TV and was setting up a game to play. Svetlana leaned in closer to Mickey and whispered carefully. “Does it trigger anything?”

Mickey thought carefully. He pictured a tall person with red hair but that was it. It wasn't a particular shade of red. There was no face. No other attributes. It triggered nothing. “No.”

“I am happy to talk about Ian but not around Yevgeny any more. It confuses him.”

“Yev knew Ian?” Stupid question, Mickey thought immediately. Yevgeny had clearly been excited when Mickey had mentioned Ian. Mandy was looking down in her lap, Svetlana was watching him with an indescribable look on her face.

“He loves Ian.” Svetlana said simply, waving her hand as if Mickey should know this. “We all do.”

–

Ian had always known that if Mickey ever remembered anything, he would know within the day, if not hours or minutes. He'd long gotten over the rush of hope he would feel if he saw Mandy or Svetlana calling. They never called with news any more and he had all but gotten over it. It hurt to think about Mickey. It hurt to think about their life that they used to share. It hurt to think about all that was lost. But he couldn't do it any more. It was draining to be constantly aware of what was lost. Dwelling on the situation and wishing it would change did nothing.

Ian had decided – after an emotional talk with Hitomi that had caused Claire to send Ian home early from work - that he couldn't wait in limbo. The day he wanted wasn't going to come. It would be a long and lonely life if he was going to wait for Mickey to finally open his eyes and see Ian for who he was. It had taken six months but Ian finally felt ready to let go of the Mickey he knew.

But that wasn't to say he would forget him entirely. Not that he could, or wanted to. Mickey had still been five years of his life that he didn't want to forget. It was just that he couldn't keep waiting for his life to go back to that point. It wasn't going to happen. 

When Mandy called him and told him to stay home because she was on her way over, he didn't think it was to do with Mickey. There was excitement in her voice, sure, but it didn't even cross Ian's mind that that's what it would be. By the time she was coming through the front door to Fiona's house, Ian had almost forgotten she was coming over.

“Hey – what's up?” Ian asked from his position on the couch. He'd been reading a book Fiona had suggested – a crime novel, a secret favourite of hers – and laid it down in his lap. Mandy sat down next to him.

“Don't get your hopes up, but Mickey was asking about you today.”

Silence filled the small living room. Ian was glad Fiona wasn't home; she would be watching his every move for a bad reaction. Mandy seemed to wait on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward, her breath held. Ian picked up his book and slowly folded the corner of the page down – just to fuck with Fiona because she hated it when Mike did it – and sat it on the small table in front of them. “What did he say?”

“He said that he just remembers your name – he wanted to know about you.”

Silence again. Conflicting feelings were arising in Ian; he wasn't sure how he felt about it. One thing that surfaced, though, was that he didn't feel any hope. “What did you tell him?”

“We didn't tell him much – we weren't sure how much he would continue to remember and Lana wasn't sure it was a good idea to load him up with too much all at once. But isn't that a good sign?” Mandy asked hopefully, leaning even closer to Ian. “Ian?”

Ian sighed deeply, not sure how he was supposed to feel. “He doesn't remember me.” It wasn't a question. Ian already knew the answer.

“No.” Her voice seemed tiny in the already quiet room.

“He doesn't want to know me?”

A pause. “No.”

Another sigh escaped Ian's lips; it was all the answers he needed. “I love him, Mandy. But I can't keep holding on to this.”

Mandy didn't stay long. Ian made some comment about meeting Debbie – which turned out to be true when Debbie text him and told him she was coming over. Ian wondered briefly if Mandy had spoken to her – again, proved true when Debbie turned to Ian halfway through the movie they were watching and asked how he was feeling.

“Mandy?”

“Of course. How are you? She said you were weird about it -”

“I wasn't weird about it -”

“And how you practically pushed her out the door -”

“I fucking did not!”

“So tell me, big brother. How are you?” Debbie fixed him with a look that he knew he couldn't get out with. He paused the movie and turned to her.

“I'm okay.” He said evenly. When Debbie raised an eyebrow, he elaborated. “I can feel myself starting to move on, Debs. Part of me doesn't want to – but another big part does. I can't keep waiting for something that won't happen.”

“You don't think he will remember more?”

“I don't think so. But how long should I wait?” Ian rubbed his hands over his face slowly, tired and wishing he was in bed. “I love Mickey. I do. But he's happier without me.”

The weight of his words filled the room, made his eyes droopy. Something inside him shifted and he felt horribly sad for a moment, like he couldn't breath. Before long, though, it passed. He felt okay. He felt right.

“This is what I want, Debs. Mickey doesn't want me; I don't want to force Mickey to remember when he doesn't want to -”

“It's not that he doesn't want to, Ian. He just doesn't remember.” Debbie said slowly, as if Ian was being stupid. He shook his head at her words.

“It doesn't make a difference any more. He doesn't know me. I have to try and move on now.”


	18. Dazzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Golden grill of sadness, mid-life wasted youth. Always end up like this, always gonna lose."

_6 months before//_

The quest to find the perfect ring for Ian had started straight away. Mickey didn't want to waste any time. He already knew where he would hide it in the house – in a box of processed macaroni and cheese that Ian hated. Mickey knew he would never touch it. The box would sit in the back of the cupboard gathering dust, all the while hiding something inside of it. Mickey had no idea where to start when looking for a ring, though.

On his first excursion, he'd ended up storming out of a store after the salesperson assumed he was straight. After a talking to from Mandy – who was right, of fucking course; the man in the shop had no way of knowing what his sexual orientation was – he'd ventured out again. He had no idea what kind of ring he was looking for. With a grumpy noise to his self, Mickey thought about how lucky men buying rings for women were – sure, there were a million different styles but something with a big rock on top usually impressed. There wasn't a huge selection of men's rings and even then, Mickey was fucking stumped.

It was hard finding the time to head out and buy a ring, too. They both had weekends off and Ian always asked where he was going. Not in an obsessive way, but someone who is merely interested in what their significant other is doing. Mickey was fucking shit at lying and would mumble something about needing to go into the office. Of course, Ian would then ask Mickey to wait and want to come with him, rambling on about some new cafe he'd been meaning to visit. It had made it hard for Mickey to conduct any sort of secret proposal activities.

Grace and Mandy were over for dinner and had been eyeing Mickey up all night. When Ian disappeared into the kitchen to get another drink, they cornered him on the couch and began hounding him with questions.

“Have you found a ring yet?”

“How are you going to do it?”

“When are you going to do it?”

“Can you two shut the fuck up? He's going to fucking hear you!” Mickey hissed in response to the barrage of questions that had just been fired his way. He glanced nervously towards the kitchen but he could hear Ian humming faintly in the other room. Turning back to the two girls, he was sure he caught them eyeing each other up but shook it off for an angry glare instead. “Are you fucking stupid bringing this up now?”

“No, we just want to know!” Grace replied, keeping her voice low. Her eyes were excited and Mickey felt a pull of excitement in his self, too.

“And since when did you fucking know anyway?” Mickey demanded, raising an eyebrow at his sister, choosing to be angry instead. “Thanks a fucking lot, Mandy.”

“Hey! You can't expect me to keep a secret like that to myself!” Ian's footsteps sounded like they were coming closer and Mandy looked over Mickey's shoulder and into the kitchen. “Would you make me a coffee please, Ian?”

Mandy had never spoke so politely in her entire fucking life but it didn't seem to arouse suspicion. Ian called out a reply and a moment later the sounds of the kettle beginning to boil could be heard. Mandy pulled a smug face in Mickey's direction. He flipped her off for good measure.

“So – what have you done?” Grace asked, an excited smile on her face again. 

“Did Mandy also mention that I'm not doing it until our anniversary? In six fucking months?” Mickey bit out through gritted teeth. “And I haven't done anything except look for rings and I haven't even fucking found one yet.”

“Look, you have ages to buy a ring. Start planning how you're going to ask him first.” Grace replied, her eyes flicking from Mickey's face up to the kitchen door and then back down. “I can't believe you didn't tell me, you asshole.”

Before Mickey could whisper a hushed reply, Ian suddenly walked into the room. It was an odd scene. Mickey sat on the couch with both Grace and Mandy almost sitting on top of each other to be close enough to Mickey to whisper. All three of their heads whipped around and all three of them moved in different directions. Not fucking suspicious at all.

“All okay?” Ian asked carefully, his eyes roaming over the three of them. Mickey could tell already that he knew something was up; Mickey's mind began working overtime to come up with a suitable lie for what they'd been talking about.

“All good.” Grace replied, her nonchalance not convincing in the slightest. Ian handed Mandy's hot drink to her, raising an eyebrow at her initial confusion. When she remembered that she'd asked him for a drink, she went over the top in accepting it.

“Oh, thanks so much! I really appreciate it. Thanks, Ian.”

“It's just a fucking coffee.” Ian muttered, sitting on the couch next to Mickey and giving him a glance. Mickey was going to be asked about this later and he had until the girls left to decide what the fuck he was going to say.

–

Ian waved out of their front window as Mandy's car peeled away from the side walk and took off down the road. Grace's car followed and Ian closed the curtains. He could hear Mickey in the shower – strange for him. He usually showered in the mornings; Ian felt a prickle of unease settle within him and he didn't like it. He wasn't the suspicious type but something about the way Mickey was talking with Mandy and Grace tonight made him feel weird and he had no idea why.

All at once, a dozen possibilities began rushing through his head; maybe the girls had caught Mickey cheating and were urging him to tell (or not tell) Ian? Ian shook his head at that. It was a ridiculous idea and he didn't want to let himself think about it for even a second. It wouldn't be true and he refused to entertain it any further. What the fuck had been going on, though? Ian moved through the living room and tidied things; books put away, an empty can to take through to the kitchen, all the while his thoughts were racing. He didn't want to dwell on it, but with Mickey in the shower he wasn't able to ask him about it yet. Jumping to conclusions was the next step, no matter how hard he fought to keep his mind off of it.

When the kitchen was tidy enough, Ian went down the hall and into their bedroom. The shower had been turned off but he could hear Mickey in the bathroom opening and closing the cupboard. Who knew what the fuck he was doing and Ian didn't want to let his brain come up with ideas of Mickey stalling because he was coming up with a lie to tell Ian. Jesus. Ian shook his head again; this was ridiculous. He headed for the bathroom and knocked loudly on the door.

“Mick?”

“Hang on a second. I'll be out soon.” Mickey's voice was muffled through the door and Ian frowned; the door was locked. He never locked the door. “Two minutes.”

Instead of beginning an argument through a locked door, Ian went back to the bedroom and sat on the bed, opening up a game on his phone in the hopes that it would take his mind off of the whole thing. It only stressed him out more. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Mickey came out of the bathroom with damp hair and a towel around his waist. Normally Ian would be all over him; his anxiety had the better of him tonight.

“What the fuck was the door locked for?” Ian demanded immediately, regretting it straight away. Mickey looked taken aback as he pulled out clean clothes to put on; Ian hadn't wanted to sound so aggressive but it was out there now. He waited for Mickey to reply and Mickey took his sweet fucking time. “Mickey?”

Mickey had his back to Ian, his hands in the top set of drawers as he rummaged through for a pair of boxers. Ian watched his back with his breath held. He eventually turned around, biting his lip and lifting up one side of his mouth in a smirk. “I didn't realise it was locked. You okay, man?”

“What was going on with you and the girls earlier?” Ian asked, less harsh than his first question but his eyes never left Mickey's face. He usually thought of his self as quite intuitive, and he knew Mickey inside out, but tonight he couldn't read him and it was only panicking him further.

“When?”

“Come the fuck on, Mickey. You know when. I came in and you were all huddled about whispering like a bunch of fucking gossips at the hairdresser. What were you all talking about?”

Mickey dropped his towel and stood there for a split second eyeing up Ian; with his lack of clothes and the raised eyebrow, Ian knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't going to deny that the sight of Mickey standing there with nothing on was doing something to him but it wasn't going to work. Ian stared at Mickey, folding his arms slowly and watched as Mickey's cheeks slowly turned red and he hurriedly shoved his boxers on, followed by an old t-shirt.

“Jesus, Ian.” Mickey mumbled, coming over to his side of the bed. His face was still pink and Ian was almost glad to have embarrassed him. “We were just talking!”

“About?” Ian prompted, not letting up. Mickey was climbing into the covers, obviously trying to end the conversation but Ian sat upright on the bed, refusing to back down.

“Ian! What the fuck is with you?”

“What were you guys talking about?”

“Grace likes Iggy!” Mickey burst out, turning away from Ian as he set his alarm for the morning. Ian couldn't see his face but it wasn't the stupidest of ideas. Was it?

“She likes Iggy?”

“Yes. And Mandy and I were trying to get her to see sense, okay!” Mickey thumped his phone down and huffed to his self as he laid down in the bed, pulling the covers up around him. Suddenly, Ian felt stupid sitting up on the bed with his arms folded. He deflated slightly, sinking into his self as the idea rushed through his head. It was plausible. What the fuck had he been thinking? He slid down into the bed and lay there silently, his own cheeks now turning pink. Mickey turned off the lamp next to the bed and the room was plunged into darkness. “What's going on, Gallagher?”

“I thought you were having an affair.” Ian bit out. “Well, no. But that's where my mind went. I don't know what I thought.”

Mickey moved closer to Ian in the bed, his arm pulling him in and all at once, Ian felt a rush of warmth run through him. How could he have thought that Mickey would do that to him? Ian responded, twisting slightly so that he was totally enclosed in Mickey's arms. He breathed in deep and squeezed his eyes right shut. “I'm sorry.”

His voice came out in a tight whisper but Mickey heard him; Ian felt his arms tighten around him slightly and he already felt better, safer. “Look, I know I'm a hard ass and I don't like kissing you or holding your hand in public, and sometimes I can be a shit. I get that. But Ian, we're coming up on five fucking years. Do you think I'm only in this until I find someone better?”

“No.”

“No fucking way. So tell the part of your brain that puts these ridiculous ideas into your head to shut the fuck up and just remember that I love you, even if I don't always say it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now, do you wanna chit chat more or do you wanna get on me?” Ian didn't even need to see his face to know that Mickey was grinning. He aimed an elbow into his stomach and enjoyed the noise Mickey made when it connected. “The fuck?!”

“You're only a little bit insensitive. Now, take your fucking clothes off.”

\--

_Eight Months After//_

Mickey hadn't been back to the hospital in a long time. In the beginning, after he was discharged and sent home, he would go back almost weekly for tests and check ups. Then it was every few weeks, then it became a monthly thing. Now, it had been at least two months since he'd been back. He could also remember the last few visits, which was an improvement in itself. Mickey could feel his old self creeping back in more and more; for the first time since the accident, he felt normal. His days weren't revolving around headaches or dizziness. While he would still suffer from the odd headache, they weren't debilitating and the dizziness was a rare occurrence.

He was due back at the hospital for a meeting with the two main doctors who had worked with him throughout his injury, Dr Castillo and Dr Gray. It was supposed to be the final meeting, depending on how it went and Mickey couldn't fucking wait. His home nurse, Sally, only came once a week now. He missed her company, though. He was planning on asking the doctors about when he could return to work, too. There was only so many times he could watch re-runs of sitcoms on the TV or go for walks without being bored shitless.

Winter had well and truly settled in, too, so his visits outside had cut right down to almost nothing. It was too fucking cold to do anything and Mickey just wanted to get back to work. He was planning on meeting up with Iggy after his appointment at the hospital; Grace had ensured him that Iggy was handling everything well but the old doubt was creeping back into Mickey and he was worried that Iggy was going to fuck up on a major scale.

Sally had arranged to take him to the hospital for his appointment and take him home again; he was almost done convincing her to let him drive them both home.

“Mickey, I understand your frustration. Unfortunately, you cannot drive until you've been cleared by the neurologist.” Sally was saying carefully. Her eyes were on the road but she was frowning.

“I know – but what if they give me clearance today?”

Sally chewed her bottom lip, the skin turning white with the pressure. As she turned a corner and the hospital came into view, she visibly relented. “Let's see what they say.”

It was a yes in Mickey's book.

Sally led him through the corridors of the hospital that felt somewhat like a maze; he could remember random things about the hospital. The colour of the floors and walls, the smell of disinfectant that was one step away from being overwhelming. He didn't remember how they arrived at the meeting room, though, and he sure as shit didn't know how to get back to the car.

Dr Castillo was waiting patiently at the table inside the meeting room when they finally arrived and she stood up to greet them.

“Mickey, how are you doing?” She asked warmly after saying hello to Sally. “How's the head?”

Mickey smirked; he couldn't forget how many times people have asked him that, especially Dr Castillo. He sat down at the table next to Sally and rested his hands on the surface in front of him. “Good, really good. Hardly any headaches now.”

“That's great!” Mickey had liked Dr Castillo from the beginning. Well, he thought with a smile to his self, from what he could remember of the beginning. She had always been kind to him compared to Dr Gray; Mickey hated that fucker.

Resisting the urge to mutter 'speak of the devil' under his breath, Mickey looked up as Dr Gray walked into the room, his face forever dull. He lifted his eyes in greeting to them all but no smile crossed his face. Mandy had come with Mickey to his last meeting and afterwards, she'd told him that she pictures Dr Gray in ridiculous or funny situations in her head and that's how she puts up with his shit. Mickey had decided to do the same; as Dr Gray sat down next to Dr Castillo, Mickey imagined what he'd look like dressed up like a clown with children throwing ice creams at him. A laugh almost burst from his lips at the thought of Yevgeny throwing one particularly hard.

“Are we ready to begin?” Dr Gray asking in his thick nasal voice, making Mickey want to punch him already. “Mickey, tell us about your progress.”

Mickey launched into his speech that he'd been practising all morning. “My headaches are rare, now. If I do get one, regular painkillers take it away. I haven't had any dizziness or drowsiness for a long time – maybe a month? More? Sally will be able to tell you. I'm remembering more and more each day.”

At those words, Dr Castillo leaned forward and watched Mickey carefully. He paused for a moment but she indicated for him to keep speaking.

“I remember the hospital, where I live. I remember my family and my job. I don't think I could find my way out of this fucking labyrinth but I know how to get home.” Dr Castillo laughed lightly at his joke; Dr Gray kept his face stony. Mickey hadn't expected him to fucking laugh, anyway. “I feel like myself again.”

Dr Gray turned to his colleague and raised an eyebrow. Mickey watched as they had a silent conversation with their eyes and then finally turned back to Mickey. Dr Castillo clasped her hands together over the papers in front of her. “Do you remember Ian?”

Mickey had wondered if Ian's name would come up. Whenever he heard it, he felt like something was stirring in him but it never came to the surface. “No. I know his name and people have told me things about him, but I have no memories of him.”

Dr Gray nodded tightly. Clearly this is what he had thought would happen. “I didn't expect you to. Memories don't typically return after this length of time. In all of my years on the job -”

“Thank you, Dr Gray.” Dr Castillo cut him off, her brown eyes, darkened by her make up, narrowing in his direction. “Mickey, what happens now is simple. We go away and review your case once more. You'll be needed in next week for a few final tests but at this stage, it's safe to say that you're almost one hundred percent healed.”

“Are you serious?” Mickey asked excitedly, feeling hope rise within him. He glanced at Sally who was smiling in his direction.

“Yes. We're both very impressed with your progress and how far you've come. I would recommend that you avoid any activities that might increase your risk of re-injuring your head; I'm sure this will be easy for you.”

“I don't do anything dangerous. It was just some freak fucking accident that landed me here.” Dr Gray looked disgusted at Mickey's curse word but he didn't care; he was almost fully healed. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Not at this stage. I'll contact you if there's anything important you need to know and you of course can ring us at any time if you have any concerns. Other than that, congratulations.” Her smile was wide and Mickey felt it infecting him; he had one final question, though.

“Can I drive?”

Sally gave out a small laugh next to him and leaned forward, speaking for the first time since the meeting began. “He's been on about this for days!”

“I think wait until the final tests are done and the results are viewed. We'll give you the all clear after that.” Dr Castillo explained and Mickey nodded, his hope dwindling only a little bit. Dr Gray wasn't waiting; he stood up and nodded to them all, leaving without another word. Dr Castillo shook her head in his direction. “I apologise for my colleague.”

Mickey just waved his hand; something else was on his mind now. Sally was gathering her bag and leaving the meeting room – it was only Dr Castillo and Mickey left. He bit his lip, ran a hand through his hair and decided fuck it. “Dr Castillo?”

“Yes?” She paused, holding her folders in her hands and politely waiting for him to speak.

“The memories of Ian...could they ever return?” It hadn't bothered him at first. He wasn't going to worry about asking. But Dr Gray had been so convinced that they would never return, Mickey wanted a second opinion. Did he want the memories to come back? He didn't know.

She seemed to have been expecting the question. In any case, she wasn't surprised. “There is no way of knowing yet – I know you've heard that before. I actually told Ian the same thing.”

“Told him what?” Mickey asked quickly; he wasn't sure what was causing his sudden interest in Ian but he was curious and wanted answers.

“How much do you know from what people have told you?” Dr Castillo asked in return, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I know that we were together.” Mickey said and there was no blush on his cheeks, no embarrassment. He felt normal again; gone were the days of trying to work up the courage to tell Mandy he was gay only to find out that fucking everyone already knew.

Dr Castillo nodded in understanding. “Ian, of course, wanted to know the answers to your very questions, so I'll give you the same answer I gave him. Do not lose hope; we have seen cases where memories have returned after years of being lost. It's not impossible.”

“It's just improbable.” Mickey said dully, unsure of why his mood was dropping. What did he care if he remembered Ian or not?

“Have you thought about going to see him?” She asked quietly and Mickey looked down at the ground, kicking one foot against the other. This thought had occurred to him more than once.

“I don't want to. I don't know him and I don't feel like I want to know him; I'm more frustrated that there are things I can't remember.”

“I understand. I'm sorry I can't help you or Ian further. You have come so far, Mickey. Don't give up hope that you can't take those extra few steps.”

Mickey's conversation with Dr Castillo hung with him for the rest of the day. He'd bribed Sally into driving him over to his office where Iggy would hopefully be working. They would stop by her favourite bakery on the way home so that he could tip her for her time. Mickey didn't like that Ian's name was hanging around him more and more lately. Sometimes, all it took was a look from Mandy or a random commercial on TV and Ian's name would pop into his head. The fact that it had compelled Mickey to ask the doctor about him was unsettling enough. He'd been honest with her, though; he had no intentions of getting to know Ian. It felt weird to think that there had been something between them because he couldn't feel it, and didn't want to. Besides, it had been eight months. Mickey was sure that Ian would have moved on by now.

Iggy was on the phone when Mickey arrived so he waited in the small waiting room. There wasn't much need for a waiting room, so it doubled as a small kitchen and break room for Mickey. Not that he'd been using it of late. It was a tiny office on the north side of the city; he only needed a place to keep the majority of his files and somewhere to work from when he wasn't on an actual job. This place had worked perfectly. As he glanced around at the sparsely decorated room, Mickey wondered why memories of his job and office had come back, but not any of Ian. Before he could think any further, Iggy came out.

“Mickey!” Despite being younger, Iggy tended to treat Mickey like he was older and wiser than Iggy. He shook Mickey's hand and then grinned goofily at him. “Look at me, huh!”

“Yeah, Ig. I thought I'd pop in and see how shit was going. I can go back to work, soon.” Mickey told him, not missing the flicker of disappointment that crossed Iggy's face. They moved into his office – Mickey's office – and sat down. “You holding things down okay?”

“Yeah, man.” Iggy pulled out a folder from the top drawer of the desk and handed it over. “I've been keeping records of all the decisions I've made and jobs we've had for you. I wanted you to be in the loop once you were ready.”

Mickey stared open mouthed at the folder and flicked through some of the pages. “Shit. You're really fucking good at this, huh.”

“Don't sound so surprised, little brother.” Iggy grinned widely, ignoring Mickey who was flipping him off. “So, you're allowed to work again?”

“Soon. I almost have the all clear. I won't be able to work full days yet so I'll still need your help.” Mickey said slowly, an idea forming in his mind. His head was starting to hit back at all the information, though. He could feel a headache coming on. “Listen, Sally is waiting for me outside but I want to talk to you when I'm back about the possibility of opening up another office across town. Bring in more business, you know.”

“Sure, Mickey.”

“And you could run it.”

“Wait – what?”

–

It had taken Ian a long time to go out again. He knew that if he did, the chances were that someone would hit on him or ask to buy him a drink – not that he was full of his self, but it usually happened. Mickey used to get jealous and complain that it was because Ian looked so fucking young. Ian welcomed it because when Mickey got jealous, it usually meant extra attention. 

Since the accident, though, Ian hadn't been out once. A few times Mandy had tried to pull him out just for a drink and he'd almost gone but changed his mind at the last minute. For a long time he had hated the idea of doing anything without Mickey. Then, after watching a sad movie and crying in bed for ten minutes, Ian realised that if he could talk to the Mickey he had known, he would tell him to stop wasting time and enjoy life. It was a fucking cliché and Ian hated it, but it was true. Mickey wouldn't want him to be sitting around miserable. Ian had made steps to moving on; he'd put some of the photos of them together away. He'd stopped dwelling on whether or not today would be the day that Mickey remembered. The one thing he couldn't do yet was change his phone background which was still a photo of him and Mickey.

But either way, Ian was moving on. And it was time to go out. He didn't want to go out with Mandy or Grace, though. He knew they'd be watching him carefully and he wanted to enjoy his self. Instead, he'd roped a work friend Marie into coming out with him. They weren't really good friends. She'd worked with the college for a few years and Ian only knew her because she was a loud Australian who always had something to say. She always got too drunk at the work parties and Ian couldn't help but be fascinated by her. She'd said yes after a bit of coaxing – he'd promised to buy her a drink or two – and eventually, she'd agreed and they were off.

They went to three different bars before someone asked for Ian's number. He was secretly upset – it made him feel fucking old – but when it did happen, the first thing that popped into his head was Mickey's smile and he'd had to excuse his self to head outside and catch his breath. It was silly, really, but he'd taken his time and talked his self into going back inside.

“He was cute, Ian!” Marie almost yelled at him when he returned to the table. Her accent was even stronger when she drunk and sounded like someone straight out of Kath and Kim. “What happened to your boyfriend again?”

Clearly word hadn't got around about Mickey. He made a mental note to thank Hitomi and his boss, Claire, for not spreading the word. Ian wasn't about to get into the full story. “We broke up.” He answered with a shrug and tried to ignore the pang it sent through his chest.

“That's a fucking shame but that guy was cute and you could have scored!” She shouted back, sloshing half of her wine down the front of her top but either not noticing or not caring, she began to scout the bar they were in for more men. “My gaydar is shit – who should I go for and who should you go for?”

Ian looked up and scanned the bar lazily, his eyes falling on a tall blonde who was the total opposite of Mickey. The blonde turned and caught his eye, smiling shyly before turning back to the people he was with. Ian hoped like fuck Marie didn't notice; a quick glance told him that she was busy ogling a muscular looking guy a few tables away from them. Ian took one look and smirked.

“Gay. Sorry, Marie.” Marie put her head in her hands and let out a cry. “What about him?”

The man in question was sitting on his own, his phone in his hand, as he sipped his beer. Marie scrunched up his nose. “No way. Too nice looking.”

Before Ian could ask what her exact criteria was for looking for a guy, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and knew someone was watching. Without even thinking, his eyes found the blonde again and they exchanged glances. This time, he wasn't so lucky.

“Oh. My. God. You have to ask him out! Look at him!”

The man had turned back around but Ian was still staring. He pulled a face and repeated Marie's words from earlier. “Too good looking. I'd feel like I was out with a celebrity. And look at those muscles – that's overkill.”

“Oh, Ian. You're being ridiculous and you know it. Another drink?” Ian nodded, watching Marie as she tottered up to the bar and tried to get the attention of the bartender. The blonde noticed Ian was alone and started to move towards the table. Ian felt panic rising in him but swallowed hard and forced his self to calm down. The man approached the table and smiled warmly, holding out his hand.

“Hi. I'm Charlie.”


	19. Fader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We tried our best, that's all we can do."

_Nine Months After//_

Ian didn't want to take Charlie's number at first. He had blue eyes; not like Mickey's, a brighter shade. But still, it had put Ian off. They'd chatted for a few minutes about nothing in particular before Marie had returned to the table and Ian had ended the conversation abruptly before she could embarrass him. Charlie had sloped off, disappointment on his face, and Ian had let the idea float around in his head. There was no harm in taking his number, he thought carefully while the music around him seemed to get louder. Marie was babbling on about her ex and all the ways in which he was awful. Ian nodded and answered her when he needed to but his mind was elsewhere. He could see Charlie across the bar talking to his friends and Ian didn't miss his eyes flicking over to Ian every few minutes.

“Why don't you just go talk to him?” Marie cut into his thoughts and he turned back to her, worried that she'd caught him not listening. She was watching him steadily, despite the amount of alcohol she'd drunk. “You don't have to take his number. Just talk to him!”

Ian chewed his bottom lip and let his eyes drift back over to where the blonde was standing. They locked eyes again and Ian smiled. It wasn't like it had been with Mickey. Charlie couldn't be further from Mickey; blonde hair, tall and muscular. Although, Ian thought with a quick grin to his self, Mickey was muscular in all the right ways. The alcohol he'd drunk was catching up to him and taking away his inhibitions. Marie was right; he could just talk to him. Ian stood up, lifting his eyebrows in Charlie's direction and the two met halfway at the bar.

“Hi.” Ian was shy and he didn't do shy. When he'd met Mickey, he'd been the one to instigate almost all of their first dates. He cleared his throat and forced his self to hold eye contact with Charlie. “Sorry about before – my friend is Australian.”

Charlie tipped his head back and laughed loudly, showing all of his teeth and surprising Ian. It wasn't a funny joke but Charlie laughed anyway. Ian was right, though; Charlie was too good looking in an obvious way. It hurt his eyes.

“Don't worry about it. Can I get you a drink?” He asked, gesturing to the bartender who was heading their way.

By the time Ian finished his drink, he'd been talking with Charlie for almost twenty minutes. Five minutes in, Marie had come over with another woman – who it turned out she knew – and said she was leaving. Charlie offered to buy him another one but Ian shook his head.

“I should head home. Thanks, though.”

There was an awkward moment where Ian wasn't sure what to do next. Charlie swept his hair off of his face and sent a dazzling smile in Ian's direction; he was like a fucking movie star. “Can I give you my number?”

Ian paused a little too long and Charlie made to speak again, but Ian cut him off. “I'm sorry. I'm coming out of a relationship so I've forgotten how this works.” He took a deep breath and let the thought of Mickey slowly leave his head as he exhaled. “I'd love your number.”

They'd met up twice since then, both times with other people around. The first time, they'd gone to see a new superhero movie. Charlie had been kind and told Ian that he understood where Ian was coming from and didn't want to rush him; he'd brought his friends along but Ian hadn't liked them. They were stereotypical jock-type men who talked too loudly and leered at every girl that went past. Ian put up with it, though he wasn't sure why. He felt weird enough being there and had almost pulled out. He hadn't told anyone he was going on a date – was it even a date? – and had no one to talk to before or afterwards.

Ian wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't told anyone yet, but it was mostly because he was afraid of being judged. For moving on too quickly, or that Charlie was nothing like Mickey. There was also the fact that Charlie was older than him, in his early thirties, and Ian didn't want to deal with the 'older men' comments that would come from Lip. Plus, telling others made it more real. Somewhere, deep down, Ian still felt like it was a betrayal towards Mickey.

After their second meet up – date? – Charlie had driven Ian home. The freezing weather outside meant the heater was turned all the way up in the car and Ian had finally stopped shivering a few minutes in. Ian knew questions about Mickey would eventually arise and he'd planned ahead that he wouldn't explain in detail about Mickey's accident. There was no need to, really.

“Ian?” Charlie spoke into the silence of the car and Ian almost jumped. He'd settled into the quiet and could even feel himself growing tired. They'd gone out to dinner with a few of Charlie's friends – again – and he had a full stomach. Trying not to yawn, Ian made a noise and Charlie kept talking. “I hate to ask but I can tell it's affected you a lot. What happened in your last relationship?”

Ian didn't even really have to think. “He had an accident and lost all of his memories of me.”

He knew it was a blunt way to put it, but how else do you explain such a ridiculous situation? Charlie's eyes widened as he drove, glancing at Ian in disbelief when the traffic allowed him to. Ian wondered what it was like to hear information like that. “Are you serious?”

“I am. It's not a big deal, though.” That was a lie and Ian knew it; he was sure Charlie knew it, too, but he wasn't about to explain the whole ordeal with someone he hardly knew. “I'm in a better place now.”

“Jesus.” It was the extent of Charlie's swearing – he would frown when Ian would swear and it made Ian miss Mickey more than anything – but it conveyed the shock of hearing Ian's words. “I'm sorry you went through that.”

Ian shrugged like it was nothing. “Thanks.”

By the time Charlie pulled up outside, they'd been talking more comfortably and Ian felt the prickling of excitement within him. It wasn't Mickey. But nothing ever would be and Ian knew that. It was something new and that was enough for now.

Lying in bed after a quick shower, his phone lit up with a text from Charlie. Ian stared at his lock screen for a moment, the photo of Mickey staring back at him. Mickey was still a part of his life, still his. But Ian was okay with moving on.

–

“Well, Mickey. It was a pleasure looking after you, even if you do swear a little bit too much.” Sally joked lightly and Mickey smirked at her, raising an eyebrow.

“You swear worse than I do, old lady.” He teased back and she swatted at his arm. He only just dodged it and she pulled a face at him.

“You're going to look after yourself, aren't you?” After nine months, Mickey had been fully cleared from the hospital. He was allowed to drive and had been told that there was no need for an in-home nurse any more. As much as he enjoyed the freeing feeling it gave him, he was going to miss the woman who'd been by his side almost daily since he first arrived home. “Promise me?”

“I promise.” Mickey said solemnly and she gave him a watery smile. “You're not gonna fucking cry, are you?”

“Fuck no.” Sally replied, making Mickey laugh. She cleared her throat and pulled her coat tighter around herself. “Well, hopefully I won't have to see you again!”

Mickey flipped her off and she returned the gesture. He waited at the door, despite the fact that it was fucking freezing, and waved as she drove away from his house. Taking a deep breath, he looked around at his now empty house. Alone. He felt alone.

Mickey didn't expect to, really. He'd been waiting for the day when he didn't need to rely on someone to help him through. In the later months, Sally had really just been there for company and the odd time that Mickey found it hard to do different tasks. They more often than not ended up with a beer each watching TV. It was the company he would miss, as opposed to the help around the house.

Svetlana was waiting inside the house. She'd arrived not long before Sally left. She had her coat on and her were hands full. She'd come over to pick up a few of her dishes that she'd left here after dropping off cooking for Mickey. She gave a short smile and said something in Russian.

“Can you speak fucking English, please?” Mickey grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“I said you are big baby. You are going to miss that old lady; you need a boyfriend.”

“I don't need shit. Are you leaving yet?” Mickey shot out, ignoring the glare Svetlana was sending his way. “Mandy is coming over and don't you have to pick up my son?”

“Hey, don't be asshole. Our son, you jackass.” Svetlana warned and Mickey grinned so that she would know he was joking. “He can still stay this weekend? He is looking forward to it.”

“Of course.”

“Right. I will go get our son.” Svetlana stressed the word, earning another eye roll from Mickey. He said goodbye and shut the door behind her, keeping the cold out. He glanced at the clock on the wall and realised that Mandy would be here soon. He slumped on the couch to wait.

Mickey had asked her to come over with photos. He was tired of thinking about Ian without actually knowing why. At this stage, all he knew was that they used to be a couple. He had no idea for how long, if they were happy together. He wanted to see proof so that it formed more of a solid idea in his head, like an actual (forced) memory, rather than a name floating around his mind everyday. And it was everyday, now. He would wake up thinking of Ian and not know why. He suspected that most nights his dreams included Ian but he never remembered them. It was annoying the shit out of him and he'd practically demanded that Mandy come over and help him.

There was still no real urge within him to know Ian. He wanted to know about him, sure. It was out of curiosity more than anything and Mickey knew that nothing he may have felt for Ian had returned. He just wanted to know what the deal was and try to understand why the fuck he couldn't stop thinking about him.

Mandy never knocked; Mickey jumped a mile high as the front door banged open and his sister barged in, a small box in her hands and a scowl on her face.

“It is fucking freezing!” She almost shouted, kicking the door shut with her foot and shivering heavily as she came further into the house. “Why the fuck does it have to be so fucking cold?”

Mickey smirked in her direction. “It's fucking winter, numb nuts.”

“Get fucked. Do you want your photos or not?” Mandy shot back and collapsed onto the couch next to Mickey. She took her boots and jacket off, revealing even more warm layers underneath, and sighed. “I fucking hate winter.”

“I got that.”

“Look, you need to watch it, okay. I am still not one hundred percent certain that I should be showing you these without Ian knowing. It was hard enough trying to get them from his sister's house.”

Mickey frowned, his eyes raking over the box as he tried to see any photos sitting on top. “Why doesn't he know?”

Mandy visibly faltered, biting her lip and looking more like him in that moment than ever before. “He just doesn't.”

Mickey left it alone; she clearly didn't want to elaborate and he wasn't about to force it. He gestured to the box and raised an eyebrow. “So?”

Mandy sighed deeply and settled into her seat further. “Right. These are all the photos I could find without drawing attention; Fiona helped me. Ian had stored them all under the house so they're a little dusty.”

“Fiona?” Mickey screwed up his face, running the name through his head over and over again. “Isn't she related to Ian?”

Mandy looked surprised. “Yes. Big sister. You remembered that?”

Mickey nodded slowly, shock slowly coursing through him. He had remembered it. A new fact, new information. Without being encouraged or given hints. Mickey thought carefully; it would have been an easy guess, really, but he didn't feel like it was a guess. It felt like a memory returning. “Well, shit.”

Mandy watched him for a moment before continuing cautiously. “Okay. So, what do you want to know?”

“Everything.” Mickey half-joked. “Not everything...just – I don't know. Stuff.”

“Wow. Thanks for the clear instructions. I'm just going to ramble, then.” Mickey nodded as he pulled the box on to his lap and began lifting out the photos. His own face stared back at him, smiling in some and laughing in others. In some he was serious or stony faced. Mandy began to speak.

“You two met through me. Do you remember working for Gary? He had a job at the community college and that's where you ran into Ian, but I'd been trying to set you two up for weeks. You guys hit it off right away, like I fucking knew you would, and you were together right up until your accident.”

“Wait – how long again?”

“Five years. In about three months, it would have been your sixth year anniversary.”

There was something in Mandy's voice that Mickey didn't want to question for fear that she would unravel in front of him. Her eyes were bright but he suspected she was holding off tears. “Shit, that's a long time.”

“It is, Mickey.” She paused, biting her lip and clearly contemplating something before she kept speaking. “You were going to propose.”

Her voice was so quiet Mickey wasn't even sure he'd heard her correctly, but the word 'propose' seemed louder than anything and it hit him square in the chest. He was going to propose to someone? Shit. That was fucking serious and there was no way he could deny that. Whenever he thought of Ian, he didn't think of it as anything serious but then Ian was around through his accident, even after he found out that Mickey didn't know who he was. It was too late for Mandy; tears had formed in her eyes and she was beginning to cry.

“Shit, don't fucking cry.” Mickey whined, putting his hand on her back awkwardly and starting to rub it in a circular motion. “You know I freak out when people cry.”

“Fuck you. You were just...you were happy, Mick. I just miss how happy you were.”

“I'm happy now.” He protested weakly but he knew it wasn't true; the accident had changed who he was, taken away parts of him that he couldn't even remember now. Learning who Ian was did nothing to help him; it was only more evidence of what he'd lost. He had no desire to try and get it back, either; while Mickey had been stuck repeating days and having to re-learn things, Ian had no doubt moved on. Mandy didn't reply, but wiped her eyes furiously as if she was embarrassed to be crying in front of him.

“Sure you are.”

 

 

 

“Jump out of an aeroplane?”

“Get fucked, Gallagher.”

“I'm trying to but all you wanna do is talk about our anniversary.”

“Sorry for trying to be a caring boyfriend.”

“Fuck you. Caring would be giving me what I need. What I need right now is your d-”

“Did you know that you're a fucking idiot?”

“Mickey!” Ian's voice hit optimal whining pitch and Mickey rolled his eyes heavily. Ian grinned; whining always annoyed the shit out of Mickey and he wasn't going to lie – he loved annoying the shit out of Mickey. “Can't you just fuck me?”

“I will, christ Ian. Should we just have dinner at some restaurant then?” Mickey asked grumpily, folding his arms in the bed and ignoring Ian's eyes as he gazed around their bedroom. His phone made a noise next to the bed but Ian knew already that he'd ignore it. Mickey was just as keen as Ian; he just liked to drag it out and make Ian wait.

“What if we stayed the night in a hotel?” Ian suggested, his hands running up and down Mickey's bare torso as he fought to contain his self. “Have crazy sex and annoy the people in the next room?”

“You've got sex on the fucking brain, ay Gallagher?”

“Well, yes. As if that wasn't obvious already.” Ian replied in a huff. Mickey turned on his side to face Ian, one eyebrow raised and a grin on his face. Ian took in his face, the way he bit his lip, the way his eyes searched Ian hungrily. Mickey was just staring, watching but Ian was lost. A moment ago, all Ian could think about was getting down to what they were best at. Now, all Ian could think about was how much he wanted to spend every minute of every day with Mickey. How much he wanted everyone to know that Mickey was his. How much he wanted Mickey to know how much he cared.

And just like that, Ian knew. Ian wanted to propose to Mickey and their fifth year anniversary was the perfect time to do it. It was the weirdest moment for it to truly hit him the way it had, but Ian didn't care. He knew what he wanted. Mickey was looking at him now as if he was missing a limb. “Ian?”

“Shit. Sorry. My mind was somewhere else.”

With a derogatory comment about his self and a certain body part, Mickey moved closer in the bed and closed the gap between them. As Ian's mind swiftly drifted elsewhere, he filed the idea away to think about later. But for now, he was most definitely busy.

It was six in the morning when the thought came back to Ian again. He could hear birds outside, a motorbike revving its engine. Ian lay still in bed. He didn't want to wake Mickey; he wanted to think about it all for a moment.

Never in his life did he think he would find someone he would want to marry. He'd spent his early years denying and hiding who he really was, and even when he was out to his family, his relationships were still secrets. He would date older men that loved how young he looked and Ian would ignore the dead feeling he felt inside. It took a long time for him to accept that he deserved love just like anyone else. He deserved someone who made him feel loved.

And he had no idea five years ago that that person would be Mickey. He'd been incredibly sceptical in the beginning when Mandy had suggested that she set Ian up with him. How often did you hear about blind dates that turned out well? Ian would probably never have even agreed to a meet up if Mickey hadn't taken a job at the community college and followed his boss along. And sure, maybe Ian would have met Mickey at some stage but things could have gone a lot differently to how they were now; Ian could have met someone else before Mickey, Mickey could have been in a relationship. It was good timing that they met when and where they had.

And now they were almost five years into it and Ian was one hundred percent certain he didn't want to spend his life with anyone else. Ever. He rolled over in the bed and faced the window. The sun was beginning to lighten the room ever so slightly and Ian wondered how long he had before Mickey's alarm would ring throughout the room and officially start the day. They were so set in their routines, so happy and comfortable together. It had happened so smoothly that Ian didn't even remember falling into the patterns that now filled their days.

Now he had to plan a proposal. He toyed with the idea of involving Mandy or Debbie but for the moment, he was content in planning different ways he could do it. In his mind, he could already see his self involving Yevgeny. Maybe he could make Mickey cry in public for fucking once.

–

All Mickey could think about was how to propose to Ian. It filled his thoughts all day and all night. He dreamed about hiring hot air balloons and taking Ian across Chicago – fucking scenic bullshit. He drove past tall buildings and imagined being right up the top with Ian and getting down on one knee. Mickey thought about involving their family and friends, making Ian cry and then teasing him about it for the rest of eternity. He thought about putting a ring in a cake or a champagne glass or a fucking piece of cheese.

None of them worked. None of them seemed right. None of them seemed like enough. Enough for Ian, enough for how he made Mickey feel. The fact that he was considering proposing to a guy after living with him for four years was monumental in itself. Mickey wanted to propose in a way that would reflect the major step he was taking. It was enough to make him rethink everything but when little slivers of doubt would sneak in, Mickey would remind himself that Ian was his. He was Ian's. And that was all that mattered.

But that wasn't enough to stop him freaking the fuck out and googling 'best ways to propose' ten times a day. He would sit at work, like he was now, and have his emails opened in his web browser. He would pretend to work – never mind that he was the fucking boss and didn't have to put on a show for anyone – when in reality he had another tab up reading '101 Ways To Propose To Your Man!'.

The phone on his desk rung and caused him to jump a foot high out of his chair. Swearing under his breath, Mickey picked it up. “MM Contracting. Mickey speaking.”

“Do you know you sound like a fucking idiot when you answer the phone?”

Mickey let out a long breath through gritted teeth. “The fuck do you want, Mandy? I'm working.” He scrolled past an advertisement for breast pumps and continued skim reading the article.

“Bullshit you are. Grace told me you were whining about the proposal – again.”

“Jesus, is nothing sacred any more?” Mickey grunted, silently cursing Grace. “You two tell each other everything these days.”

“We always have.” Mandy said, brushing off his comment. “So, what's the deal then? I've called to relieve your stress levels.”

Mickey considered hitting back with sarcasm – his most favourite response – but as he went back to google and continued looking for more ideas, he decided it was time to ask for help. “I don't know how the fuck to propose!”

“Christ, Grace was right. You are stressed.” Mandy replied, and Mickey hated the humour he heard in her voice. “What have you got so far?”

“Nothing!” Mickey exploded, grateful that he didn't share an office with anyone. This had been simmering away for awhile now and all of a sudden, here it was on the surface. “Fucking nothing, Mandy! I'm sitting here reading bullshit articles about how it's okay for women to propose to men but there's sweet fuck all about a man proposing to another man – which, by the fucking way, is bullshit in a society that's apparently all about how okay gay is now. Everywhere is just fucking hetero crap! And I've tried and tried to think of things that Ian likes, or what type of person he is but it's just bullshit because nothing seems fucking right!”

Mandy was silent on the other end, but he could hear her breathing, though it was quiet compared to how ragged Mickey's breath was now coming. He wasn't sure what was coursing through him but he felt like he'd been waiting to get all of that out. Mandy finally spoke, her voice firm. “Right. I think if you're getting into heteronormativity in today's society, you're too far gone.”

“Well, of fucking course it's -”

“No. Shut up. Tell me three reasons why you want to propose to Ian and don't be a pussy about it. Just fucking tell me.”

Mickey blinked a few times, his eyebrows knitting together. He was tempted to hang up the phone but he was desperate for the help. “I love him.” He said simply, surprising even himself at his own honesty. “I love him. I can't see myself with anyone else – I don't want to see myself with anyone else – and he's my best friend.”

“Well, sweet fucking jesus, Mickey. Tell him that! Why does it have to be fancy? Why does it have to be big? You tell him exactly what you just told me and just fucking ask him.”

“But I want it to be special!” Mickey protested weakly. Already he was coming round to her idea; it would be so simple to do it that way. No elaborate plan. Nothing to set up or organise. He could buy a ring and just wait until the right moment on the day of their fifth anniversary.

“It will be special, fuck face. Christ. You are not suited to this shit – sometimes I think you would have been better off following in dad's footsteps.”

“What, drug dealing and prison?”

“Something like that. But you know I'm fucking kidding. So, have you calmed down now?” Mandy asked sarcastically. “Do you need to sit in time out or are you going to stop having a tantrum because your poor perfect life is too fucking perfect?”

Mickey hung up on her, mostly because she was fucking right. He glanced at the time; four in the afternoon. He had an hour before he officially finished work but he was boss and that meant he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. Shutting his laptop down and packing it into his bag, he turned off the lights and left the office. His mind was on a ring. He was going to buy a fucking ring and that was that. At least he knew he wouldn't run into Ian somewhere. Ian would be stuck at work for at least another hour.

Ever since his first excursion, Mickey had avoided looking for a ring. Even looking online had put him off; there weren't many engagement rings for men, yet there were pages and pages that catered to men buying rings for women. Mickey didn't want to let his self think about the unfairness of it all; he was on a mission to buy a goddamn ring and that's what he was going to fucking do.

Entering the first jewellery store he saw, Mickey pretended to browse for all of thirty seconds while the sales attendant finalised a payment with a customer. The moment the man walked out, his purchase expertly gift wrapped in his hands, Mickey made his way to the counter with his eyes set firmly on the attendant. Taking in the tattoos and stern look on his face, the woman gave a fluttery smile. She was obviously concerned that Mickey, with 'FUCK U UP' tattooed clearly on his knuckles, was not there to pay for anything.

“I'm not here to rob you.” Mickey started. The woman let a shaky laugh escape her mouth and Mickey realised that probably wasn't the best way to start the conversation. “Shit. Sorry. I'm looking for an engagement ring. For a guy.”

He thought it best to fumble it all out before he chickened out. Mickey had to give her credit; there wasn't even a flinch of surprise on her face. Instead, she smiled widely and led Mickey over to a corner section of the glass cabinet. “Perfect. Well, we have a large selection here – bigger than any of our competitors. My name is Ella, by the way. Do you have any ideas in mind?”

“Mickey. And no, not really.” Mickey said gruffly, taking in the rings in front of him. They all shone in the bright lights of the store and Mickey could feel sweat starting to form on his back under his clothes. The lighting heated the shop up but it was warmer than outside. “I have no idea where to start to be honest.”

“That's not a problem.” She unlocked the main cabinet and pulled a large tray of rings out. “So, it all depends on how much you7 want to spend, really. This side here is our more expensive range. Most of the bands have some form of stone or diamond on them.”

“I don't want diamonds.” Mickey blurted out. He cleared his throat and tried to smile in her direction. “Sorry. Nervous.”

“Don't be sorry!” Ella gushed, her smile warm. “How long have you been with your boyfriend?”

“It'll be five years in a few months.” Mickey told her. It was strange for him to be talking so openly with a stranger about Ian, but then he was jumping all sorts of hurdles with Ian. He had been for five fucking years. Ella was either very good at her job or a genuinely nice person, but either way Mickey felt himself wanting to talk about Ian. “I don't think he would like diamonds. What about something like that?”

Mickey pointed to a plain silver band. It was simple, but he liked simple. Ella clicked her fingers and disappeared down to another section of rings. “I have some similar to that you may like. They aren't typically engagement rings, but they are still beautiful all the same.” She returned a moment later with another tray and Mickey instantly like almost all of them.

“These would be okay as an engagement ring?” He asked cautiously.

“You could buy him a ring made of cheese and it would be an engagement ring. It's the question that makes it; any ring in this store could be an engagement ring.”

Mickey eyed up some of the rings she'd brought over for him. His eye landed on a dark grey looking ring that seemed to shine brighter than the rest, even without any diamonds. “I like this one.”

 

_ _

 

“That's one of my favourites, too!” Ella replied, pulling it out of the tray and handing it to Mickey. Have a feel, see what you think. It's made from grey tungsten and has a textured design to give it a bit of flair.”

Mickey almost snorted at the word flair but he kept it in. He knew this was the ring he wanted. He could see a black version of the same ring but something about the dark grey made him think of Ian. It wasn't too flashy or in your face, Mickey thought as he turned it over in his fingers. And, most importantly, he could see Ian wearing it in his mind. A flash of excitement shot through him. He was doing this.

“I – I think I like this one.”

“Well, you don't have to make a decision now. You're more than welcome to shop around.”

“Aren't you supposed to be selling me this?” Mickey asked with an eyebrow raised, still holding the ring tightly in his hand.

“Yes, but I have a feeling I don't need to.”

Ella was right. Mickey grinned into his chest as he looked down at the ring again. This was the one. Had it really been that easy? He'd been stressing about finding a ring for so long and all he'd done was walk in here and found one almost immediately. Ella was smiling at him and he felt his cheeks turning red. “Shit. Yeah. You might be right. What if it doesn't fit him?”

“Well, you can either try to find out the size of his ring finger, or you can take this one to pop the question with and then come back in afterwards to get the ring re-sized.”

Mickey thought for a moment, chewing his lip slightly and glancing at the ring again. He wanted it now, in his pocket and safe. “I'll buy it today.”

And just like that, he had the ring. He text Debbie straight away; he'd decided to give the ring to her to look after. His original plan of hiding it in the cupboard had gone to shit after Ian had decided to clean out the kitchen one weekend and thrown out the empty box that Mickey had been planning to hide the ring in. Debbie would hold on to it until the day of their anniversary when Mickey would pick it up on his way home from work. He'd thought about giving it to Mandy to look after but if Ian got any idea of what was going on, Mandy would be the first person he would go to. And part of Mickey didn't trust Mandy not to blurt it all out, especially seeing as she'd already told Grace.

Mickey couldn't believe that he'd bought a ring. To propose. To a man. He'd been kept awake night after night worrying about planning this god damn proposal and now a big portion of it was done. He wanted to go right home and ask Ian straight away but at the same time, he knew he wanted to wait. The right time and place was their fifth year anniversary and as hard as it would be, Mickey would wait. He would wait.


	20. A Haunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I could finally know you just the way you always needed to be known."

_One Year After//_

Almost a month into seeing Charlie and Ian couldn't shake the feeling that he was settling for something that didn't really make him happy. His relationship with Charlie was comfortable. But that's about all it was. They were hardly riding off into the sunset together, but Ian liked the fact that there was no effort involved in dating Charlie. It was easy to meet for dinner, it was easy to let Charlie put his arm around Ian's shoulders, though it was never for long. They never fought, they didn't disagree on anything. It was that that made him miss Mickey more than anything but he was doing his best to push it aside every time it cropped up; he had made the decision to move on and he was going to stick to it no matter what. Maybe one day he could get to know Mickey, maybe even be friends, but for the moment he was sticking to getting over it.

The one thing getting in the way of moving on properly, though, was that in a few days it would be six years since Ian and Mickey had been together. If the accident had never happened, if their world hadn't been turned upside down so dramatically, who knows where they would be for their anniversary. Would they have already gotten married? Ian tried to picture it in his head but then shook it roughly. No. Not a good idea. He clenched his hands into fists and re-focused his eyes on the TV that was blaring out an advert for a new brand of carpet cleaner.

The front door to his sister's house banged open and Carl stomped in with a face that could kill and his phone to his ear. Ian looked up from the TV.

“Get fucked.” Carl muttered into the phone and hung it up, tossing it onto the arm chair closest to him. Ian raised an eyebrow cautiously at his brother and waited. “Some fucker at work won't swap shifts with me.” 

“An appropriate reaction, sure.” Ian said under his breath. Carl flung his body onto the couch next to Ian and stared blankly at the TV screen. Ian turned in his seat slightly. “Why is it so important to switch?”

“Rage Against The Machine are playing.” Carl paused and flicked his eyes to Ian before continuing. “Debbie suggested inviting Mickey.”

Ian could tell Carl felt uncomfortable mentioning Mickey and he hoped that the smile he'd just hitched to his face was as careless as he meant it to be. “He loves that band. But I didn't know you'd seen Mickey?”

“I haven't. It was just a suggestion.”

Ian wasn't sure how to reply; he sat quietly for a moment, his eyes glazing over as another advert, this one for a shoe store, came on. Carl was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I think loud noises can trigger symptoms like headaches in people who have recently had a concussion.”

This wasn't a lie, but Ian felt like it was. He was trying to ignore the feeling of jealousy that was rising within him at the thought of fucking everyone having a relationship with Mickey except for him. He wasn't supposed to care about that, was he? Carl was nodding at Ian's words, his eyes back on the TV as he spoke. “How are you doing?”

It was the very question that Ian hated. He never knew how to answer it and yet someone asked him almost daily. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

Ian laughed airily. “Fine, Carl.” It took only a split second to decide to tell his brother. “I'm seeing someone.”

If he was surprised, Carl certainly didn't show it. He nodded in response and mumbled a reply. “Who?”

“A guy called Charlie. Met him in a bar.”

It was turning into such a stilted conversation and Ian hated it; he felt like he could see the accusation in Carl's face but at the same time, he knew his family would no doubt be supportive of whatever he decided to do.

“Are you happy?”

Ian gave Carl a sharp look, raising an eyebrow as he did. “Am I happy? Jesus, when did you turn into Fiona.”

“Fuck you.” Carl punched Ian's arm hard but they were both grinning as the awkwardness melted from the room. “Don't make me say all that 'I care about you' crap.”

“I wouldn't dare. I'm not happy.” Ian said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “But I'm not unhappy. Does that make sense?”

Carl snorted loudly, scratching his head as he peered at his brother. “Not really. But I get you. I'm sorry about everything that's happened between you and Mickey.”

It was such a rare human moment from his little brother that Ian was shocked into silence for a few moments. The TV filled the room as the silence wore on and all Ian could think was how lucky he was to have the family he did. “I'm sorry it happened, too. But hey – he could have injured his self a lot worse than what he did.”

“True.” Carl was eyeing him up again, a strange look of admiration on his face. It wasn't a look that Carl wore often. “You're handling this shit really well, you know.”

“Am I?”

“I know it's almost been a year now, but we were worried you'd be fucked for awhile.”

Ian barked out a laugh. “So eloquent in the way you speak, young brother of mine.” He paused again, making yet another split second decision. “It's not easy. I miss him a lot and Charlie only seems to make that worse.”

It was always Lip that Ian would have serious conversations with, and even then, that wasn't very often. It was new territory talking about Mickey with Carl but, Ian remembered with a small jolt, Carl had been just as close to Mickey as Debbie had been. He was older now – not the same kid who would get into trouble at school or ask Ian how gay men had sex. Carl was regarding him carefully. “You don't have to give up completely, you know.”

“Of course I do. Am I supposed to wait forever?”

“Fuck no, but...Mickey is the one, right? The one, the only, all that girly bullshit.” Carl pulled a disgusted face and Ian rolled his eyes, attempting to keep the atmosphere light but he could feel tears threatening. He did not want to cry in front of Carl.

“Yes.”

“You can't give up on that. Not fully.”

The sitcom Ian had been zoning out in front of came back on the screen and he pretended to take interest. He could see Carl watching him out of the corner of his eye but he ignored him. His mind was running overtime. Of course, Carl was fucking right. But hadn't Ian made the huge decision to forget it, move on, grow up? Every single post-break up cliché. That hadn't been an easy choice and now Carl had shown up with a torch showing Ian a path he hadn't even noticed before.

There was of course a part of Ian that didn't want to give up. It was a huge part, if he was honest with his self, but it was hidden and it had taken Ian a long time to accept that it was pointless to indulge in that. As if on cue, Ian's phone buzzed and he unlocked the screen to find a new message from Charlie.

_Coffee at Mood on Saturday morning. Eleven. Yeah?_

Ian hated the way Charlie just assumed that Ian was down for whatever the fuck he suggested. He rolled his eyes. Carl was raising his eyebrows – again – and Ian ignored the message for now. “What?”

His brother stood up, collecting his own phone from the chair he'd thrown it onto and heaved a sigh as he did so. “I know you want to move on and start over, Ian. Just...don't let go of the possibility just yet. And don't fucking settle for some shit that doesn't even make you happy.”

And after speaking possibly the wisest words Ian had ever heard him utter, Carl headed upstairs with Ian watching him go. A moment later he heard the shower running.

Well fuck. Ian picked his phone up and made his third and final split second decision of the day, though arguably this one was perhaps a lot more serious. It was time to end things with Charlie.

_Coffee sounds good. See you then._

It only dawned on Ian what Saturday was when he woke up on Saturday morning to his phone ringing. Through his blurred eyes, he saw a goofy photo he and Mandy had taken not long after they'd met. After three failed attempts, he finally answered the call.

“The fuck are you calling this early for?”

“Did I wake you?”

“No, Mandy, my voice sounds sleepy like this all the time.”

“Fuck off. It's not even early. I thought you'd be up.” Mandy replied as Ian slowly stretched out his long limbs in the bed, enjoying the coolness of the sheets. He yawned lightly.

“Why Mandy? Why would I be up at this time on a damn Saturday?”

“Oh, would you fucking quit it! It's not even early!” Mandy shot back. “I thought you might want to meet up today.”

“I'm meeting someone for coffee.” Though he hadn't said Charlie's name, he was sure Mandy had sensed it in the offing. They'd had a tense conversation the week before when Ian had told her. She'd been predictably supportive but there was a weirdness between them. Mandy had commented that Ian no longer asked about Mickey and it had possibly been the worst time he'd ever spent with her. He wanted to get back to normal with her and brushed over the moment as quickly as he could. “Why? What's up?”

“Ian, isn't today – don't you -”

It clicked inside Ian's head all at once. Today would have been six years with Mickey. Six years. A year since the accident. A year since it all changed. Ian cleared his throat loudly and hoped that his voice didn't betray all he was suddenly feeling. “Oh, I know. I'm okay.”

“Right.” He could tell Mandy didn't believe him at all but he had no intention of getting into anything on the phone when he was still half asleep. “Where are you going for coffee?”

“Mood. That place over on Allington?”

“Jesus, that fucking hipster fest.”

Ian snorted loudly. “Yes, that's the one.” He bit his tongue and stopped himself from saying 'Charlie chose it.' He didn't need any comments as to why Charlie was a pretentious shit who Ian shouldn't be with.

“What time are you heading there? Maybe we could meet after?” Whether he was imagining it or not, Ian wasn't sure, but he heard a faint trace of something that made him suspicious.

“I'm meeting him at eleven. Why don't we get dinner together then?” Ian asked, his mind still whirring trying to work out why Mandy was so concerned with what he was doing. It was too early for this detective shit.

“Okay. Call me later if you need to, okay?”

They hung up and Ian frowned. He knew Mandy well, and he could tell that something had been up with her on the phone but now that he'd ended the call, he realised that she was probably concerned for him considering what the day was. He doubted very much that there was much more to it.

As he stood in the shower and let the hot water run over his head, not really bothering to do anything but stand still, Ian realised there was something heavy inside him. It was sitting in his chest, pushing ever so gently enough so that he was aware of it. Six years. All at once, Ian thought about everything that could have been. Getting married was only the beginning; Ian wanted to take Mickey around the world, despite the latter's insistence that he wasn't interested in any of that 'foreign scenery bullshit'. Would they have had a child together? Ian doubted it; Yevgeny was perfect and Ian loved him as if he was his own, anyway. Random flashes of their life together moved past his mind's eye and it was a minute or so before Ian realised he was crying.

Gone. All gone. What was he thinking, that he could get over Mickey this easily? Five years. Six years. Six years would take longer than a few months to fade away. Ian wiped his face pointlessly; his tears mixed with the shower water and ran down his face. All previous goals of forgetting Mickey were washing down the drain – he couldn't. Not yet. Not now. There was no point in seeing Mickey or trying to get him to remember Ian, but Ian could no longer pretend that everything was okay. He could no longer pretend that Charlie was anything other than a distraction; Ian didn't like him. He was too good looking, too pretentious. He was too blonde, too perfect, too far from Mickey. 

Why had it taken him this long to see that he was forcing this too hard? It had been easy for him to get into the mind frame of moving on; a few inspirational songs and Ian convinced himself quite easily that this was what he had wanted. The decision he'd made the night before when he'd text Charlie back now seemed even more cemented in his mind; he would end it with Charlie and spend some time on his own. Mickey was no longer his, but Ian didn't need anyone just yet. Maybe it took Carl suddenly maturing ten years before Ian's eyes, or maybe it was how weird things had turned between him and Mandy after he'd told her about Charlie. Or maybe this was just how it was supposed to play out; with Ian standing in the shower, tears still leaking from his eyes and his fists clenched, as he realised that he might never get over Mickey. And he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Mood was situated in perhaps the worst part of Chicago. The street itself was full of high priced organic food stores, espresso bars and weirdly empty clothes stores where a t-shirt cost at least a hundred dollars. Ian fucking hated it and had only ever come here with an ex who liked to show off that he could afford to shop here. Ian walked past a clothes store advertising a 'bargain' pair of shoes that cost at least half of what Ian's car had cost him. He finally arrived outside Mood and saw Charlie sitting in the window, two drinks in front of him and Ian took a deep breath.

“I ordered you a latte.” Charlie greeted him, his usual bright smile on his face as he looked up at Ian who took a seat opposite Charlie, facing the street. Ian fucking hated milk in his coffee but he didn't see the point in reminding Charlie for the fiftieth time when he was about to break up with him.

“Thanks.” Ian mumbled. He had only ever broken up with someone once and it had been easy considering the man in question had just proposed that he and Ian run away from his wife together. This time would be different, mainly because Ian wasn't filled with disgust like he was with Kash. 

“How are you?” Charlie asked, glancing around the tightly packed cafe which only made Ian more nervous.

“I'm okay. Listen, I wanted to talk to you -”

“You're breaking up with me, aren't you?”

Well that was fucking easy. “I'm sorry, but I thought I was ready for this -”

“But you're not, I know.” Charlie said, nodding like a fucking idiot, as if he'd seen it coming all along. He reached across for Ian's hands and, reluctantly, Ian brought his up and put what he hoped was a pathetic look on his face. “It's okay, Ian. I truly understand how you feel. When I was seven, my sister told me a story about -”

This was much too fucking ridiculous for Ian's liking but there wasn't much he could do except put up with it and wait until it was appropriate to leave. At least there was no doubt in his mind now that was he was doing was the right thing to do. As Charlie started to talk about his favourite poem that was sure Ian would love, Ian zoned out. Mickey was on his mind. Again.

Out of nowhere, there was a loud bang and several people out on the street screamed. Ian jumped, feeling a shiver run down his spine – though he had no idea why – and looked out to the street. He spotted the source of the noise immediately; the red faced driver of a sports car was trying to make a swift exit and Ian turned back to Charlie, who had quickly gone back to his poem.

–

To say that Mickey's life was back to normal wouldn't be true, but it was getting fucking close. He could go days without a headache now, though he was prone to getting them if he worked too hard but there was nothing wrong with taking an afternoon off every other day. It was a small price to pay and Iggy had stepped up to pick up the slack, alongside Grace. It meant that Mickey didn't have to stress that work wasn't being done and he could relax in the afternoons while his headaches melted away. There was no more dizziness, no more patches of his days where his memory would fail him. His memories of the accident hadn't come back but according to Dr Castillo, they might never come back. Mickey didn't give a shit, though; he wasn't sure he wanted to remember what had caused his year of hell – and he was one of the lucky ones who had head injuries. 

There were a few memories still missing – aside from the accident – and that was any and all including Ian. Sometimes Mickey would dream about him; he never remembered them, but when he woke up, a blur of red and Ian's name would fill his head. Sometimes Mickey felt like someone else was in the house with him, just out of sight in another room. It was a comfort until he remembered he was alone. It was frustrating as fuck. Mickey had asked Mandy for any information that might help him remember but she had nothing new to give him – he didn't know what it would take to fill in the final piece of the puzzle, but it annoyed him to no end that his mind felt unfinished for the time being.

Saturday had become Mickey's favourite day of the week. He wasn't sure if they ever were before his accident, but he fucking loved that he had nothing to do all day and didn't have to worry about work the next day. They were usually slow and lazy days and he rarely got out of bed. This Saturday, though, Mickey was woken up by his shit of a sister and he didn't take to it all that kindly.

“I mean, what the actual fucking fuck, Mandy? It's not even nine in the fucking morning! Are you fucking stupid? Do you think it's okay to wake people at this fucking hour? Is this something you do regularly?”

“Shut the fuck up, Mickey.” Mandy managed to cut into his half asleep rant with a bored tone to her voice and it only annoyed Mickey more. “You'll get over it.”

“The fuck do you want anyway?”

“Grace and I only wanted to know if you wanted to come with us for food this morning.” Mandy asked. Mickey heard a voice mumbling in the background and Mandy spoke again. “We're meeting at eleven.”

“And why the fuck would I want to meet up with you two?”

“I think the better question here, you fucking tool, is why would we want to meet up with you but here we are, asking you anyway.”

Mickey scratched his head and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. On one hand, he wanted to go the fuck back to sleep. On the other, now that he was awake he was fucking hungry. “Where are you meeting?”

“It's a place called Mood. It's on Allington. See you there at eleven.”

Mandy had hung up before Mickey could even confirm that he was going and he flung his phone away from himself dramatically. Sisters, he scoffed to his self. Thank fuck he only had one of them. Not even a moment later, his phone was ringing again and with a frustrated yell, Mickey picked it up.

“Yes?” He gritted out through his teeth, not bothering to check the display to see who was calling. He was sure it would be Mandy again with some smart ass comment.

“Hey, Mickey. It's Debbie.” It only took a moment before the memory hit him full on in the face. It was the sound of Debbie's voice that brought it screaming back; her birthday. A party of some sort – he couldn't remember if it had been busy or just a family thing. There were people he didn't know but people he did. He was in a room. There was someone in front of him, someone tall. That flash of red so similar to Debbie's hair but shorter. Mickey knew it was Ian, he fucking knew it. The memory was gone as soon as it came and Debbie's concerned voice came rushing back to him. “Mickey?”

It had come out of nowhere. No warning. Only dreams that he couldn't remember had preceded this flash of memory and it confused him; why now? A small thump of pain had started in his head but Mickey ignored it. Debbie was still calling his name. “Sorry, Debs. I'm here.”

“Are you okay?”

“I just – thought I remembered something.” Mickey mumbled, not entirely sure if he wanted to share it with anyone yet when there wasn't much there to share. “Your birthday party. I don't know how long ago.”

“Really?” The excitement in Debbie's voice made his head throb a little harder and he closed his eyes tightly. “Wow, Mickey. That's something!”

“Is it? I guess so.” He answered quietly, massaging his temple and feeling the pain leave him slowly. “What's up, anyway?”

“Oh, I – uh, well I just wanted to call and see how you were.”

“I'm...okay?” Mickey replied slowly. “What's going on? This is the second call I've had this morning and it's still only fucking early.”

“Was it Mandy? I thought she might call.” Debbie said and Mickey waited for her to elaborate. “Well, today is six – no, one year since your accident.”

Shit. Of course it was. He probably wouldn't have remembered that on his own – fuck, he didn't remember the accident, why would he remember the date it happened? Was that why he had suddenly remembered something as he'd heard Debbie's voice? Lost in questions he had no answers to, Mickey shook his head and brought his self back to the conversation with Debbie. “Shit. Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

Mickey forced out a laugh, light-hearted. His head was still throbbing softly, a gentle reminder of something just out of reach. “Yes, I'm okay, Debbie. Thanks for calling, though. Wait – how did you mix up six and one?”

There was a moment of silence that told Mickey there was something more to know before Debbie attempted to cover it up with mumbling something about getting back to work. She hung up without waiting for Mickey to say goodbye and Mickey stared at the phone in his hand. Had all the women in his life gone off the fucking deep end? He half expected Grace to call next but the phone stayed silent.

Showered and dressed an hour later, Mickey took the long route into the city and towards Allington. Saturday morning was always a busy time on the roads but for some reason Mickey got lucky; there was a park a block down from where he was meeting Mandy and in no time at all, he was heading down towards the cafe. Mandy had text him directions as to where it was and he read it again now to make sure he was in the right place.

_Opposite the paleo deli and next to an espresso bar. We'll wait inside._

The fuck was a paleo deli? Mickey screwed his face up at a clothes store offering half priced denim – taking the total cost down to only $350 – and looked up to see he was on the wrong side of the road. A huge sign stood on the side walk announcing 'Chicago's best paleo deli!' and Mickey turned away from it, his head giving a little jolt of pain as he did, and spotted Mood across the road.

In the space of a few seconds, everything happened at once. A few feet away, a car backfired causing several people around him to scream and the people sitting in the window of Mood to look out towards the street. Mickey, however, had his eyes on Mood and in particular, someone sitting in the window. The faces turned away after seeing the car but Mickey couldn't take his eyes off the cafe window.

It was Ian. And all in that one moment he knew, he knew it was Ian, he knew it because he fucking remembered. There was a splitting pain in his head. It cracked slowly down the back of his skull and down into his neck; an instant headache hit him and he swayed on the spot slightly. Staggering a little, Mickey reached out for a nearby bench and sat down on it with a soft thump, his head in his hands.

He remembered. He remembered. He remembered and he wanted to get the fuck out of there before he threw up. A wave of nausea was washing over him now, over and over again and he was worried that he would actually vomit right here on the street. He did not want to see Ian, not like this. Memories were hitting him thick and fast but he couldn't focus on them. Not now. He needed to get home. People were watching him as they walked past and Mickey wondered vaguely if he looked ill.

“Mickey?” It was Mandy's voice, full of worry, and it all clicked into place; she had set this up. She had wanted him to see Ian. He couldn't be angry, he couldn't feel anything other than the pain in his head and the sickness in his stomach.

“Take me home.” He mumbled and from nowhere, Grace appeared, too. They took hold of an arm each and began to walk him away from Mood, away from Ian. Ian. Mickey couldn't process what was happening inside his brain and it was mostly that that made him feel sick. He closed his eyes as the girls led him away and around a corner. Grace's car came into view and he was thankful to be able to sit down. Mandy was putting his seat belt on as he rested his head against the back of the seat. It was throbbing like never before and he held it tight, praying that it would stop.

“Are you okay?” Mandy asked from the front seat where she was now doing up her own belt. He couldn't put into words what was going on inside his head right now, but she was worried and he had to answer her somehow.

“I'm okay. Take me home.” He managed to get out, feeling queasy with the effort of speaking. The car started and he closed his eyes, attempting to drown out the noise and motion of it moving through the streets. His hands were still gripping his head tightly, trying to force the pain away. If this was what remembering was like, he didn't want it. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want any of it.

“We're almost there, Mickey.” Grace this time and Mickey opened his eyes. Had he fallen asleep? Or passed out? The streets were familiar and he realised he'd missed half of the car ride. Within moments, they were pulling up outside his house. Before they could make moves to leave the car, he spoke.

“I can do it myself. I'll be fine. Just need to sleep.” He sure as shit didn't sound fine and he knew it, as did the girls, but for some reason they let him get out of the car without a word and he didn't hear them leave until he'd shut the front door behind him.

Fumbling for the walls, his eyes half closed with the pain of his head, Mickey walked down the hallway and into his bedroom. Dizziness was setting in now and he could barely hold them off any longer. He hadn't bothered to make his bed that morning and he was glad for it; he collapsed onto the pillows and screwed up his face in pain; like a movie that had been waiting to play, the memories started.

A clipboard. Looking up, green eyes. Those green eyes. How did he forget those eyes? They were such a piercing colour. That smile. Light, almost invisible, freckles. Realisation of who he was, who Ian was. Mandy's friend. She'd been trying to set them up for weeks. They'd met on their own. Fate, Mandy had called it. Mickey remembered laughing in her face, telling her it would never work with Ian but he'd been lying. He'd lied to her face. He had already been well on his way to falling in love with Ian, despite digging his heels in as best he could.

Laughter. His red hair a mess on his head first thing in the morning. Showers together, dinners out and dinners in. Breakfast in bed. Taking Yev out. Dates. Mickey had gone on dates. He had said 'I love you' first. He had fallen in love. He had fallen in love and how had he forgotten this, how had he forgotten the pain of this? Ian, Ian standing in front of him crying because Liam had almost died and Mickey had saved him. He'd fucking saved a kid's life and forgotten it.

A theme park came into his head now. He saw himself holding Ian's hand as they waited in line for a roller coaster. Mickey said 'I love you' so many times that day, whispered in the darkness of a tunnel ride. He'd said it in little squeezes of Ian's hand, he'd said it in the quiet kisses he'd place on Ian's head. Mickey had said it first and it had meant everything.

A trip to New York. Mickey's first proper holiday. Watching Ian and Yevgeny together with a smile, knowing he had chosen the right person to bring into Yev's life. Fights and screaming and yelling and making up. The understanding that he was happy, Mickey had been happy with who he is, happy with Ian. Settled. Ian was family, Ian was his, Ian loved him. And fuck, he loved Ian. He loved him. He still did. It was rushing through him now, warming him right through and down to his toes. It filled him up, causing tears to well in his eyes and the pain to leave his head, just a little.

He was left, after the onslaught of memories, lying in his bed with an emptiness. He had lost Ian. He had lost it all. It didn't matter now that he remembered it all; Ian had been with someone else in that cafe. He hadn't been sitting alone waiting for Mickey to turn up. He had been with someone else. He had moved on. And Mickey had lost him, lost all that was ever good in his life.

Mickey was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, tears slowly running down his cheeks but his face was set in anger. He was furious. Angry that this had happened, that he'd hurt his head so badly that he lost such an important part of his life. Angry that it had taken him a goddamn year to remember and angry that in that time Ian had moved on.

He was fucking angry at his sister for causing this. He knew, deep down, that it wasn't her fault. She couldn't have known that this would happen but there was no room for reason in his head right now. Mandy told him to go to Mood. Mandy told him what time to be there. She clearly knew Ian would be there too. And now Mickey was left with random memories of his time with Ian, the happiest times he'd known throughout his entire life, and all they were now were memories. There would be no new ones made. Ian had gone. Mickey was left with nothing.

No one to keep him warm. No one to keep him company. No one to laugh at his shitty jokes. No one to help him talk to Yev about girls or boys or sex. No one to cook with, watch movies with, share the bed with. Mickey had never felt more alone in his entire life. Coughing with the effort of crying, he realised what was about to happen thankfully moments before it did; a quick sprint to the bathroom and his breakfast made a reappearance. The pain in his head came screaming back full force and Mickey groaned. He wanted it to be over. 

Another memory came at him, unwanted. He had been sick, really sick. Ian had been there with soup. Boxes of tissues and water, a hand softly on his back as he had vomited like he was now. The word 'alone' swum around and around in his head as the vomiting finally stopped. Mickey sat in front of the toilet for another moment as he waited for the queasiness to leave him fully before he made his way back bed, his legs wobbly.

He didn't want this. He didn't want these memories. He didn't want to feel so alone. The bed was uncomfortably warm but he lay on it anyway, his eyes closed and the pain in his head ever present. He would rather spend his life knowing there were memories just out of reach than have this; knowing everything he'd ever had and lost. It was only just after midday but Mickey willed sleep to take him, to take it all away. He wanted to wake up and not remember anything again. Or better yet, he wanted to wake up with Ian next to him.


	21. You Keep Me Coming Round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I see a mountain in my way, it's looming larger by the day."

_Two months before//_

“Eight years old and he already talks like this to me.” Svetlana hadn't stopped for breath since she'd arrived at Mickey and Ian's house; Mickey had nodded along from the moment she'd walked in the door and handed him a bag full of food. She'd talked his ear off all the way through to the kitchen and was now pacing the small room with her hands on her hips as Mickey pulled different items of food out of the bags. “It's that boy he plays with. Sonny. He is a govnyuk.”

“Speak fuckin' English.” Mickey muttered, glancing towards the living room to see Yevgeny still talking to Ian. Svetlana gave him a swift glare.

“Shithead. This Sonny boy is shithead.”

“Yev is a good kid, Lana, but this was going to happen eventually. There's always gonna be shitheads that rub off of on him but -”

“He loves his mama. He's never spoken to his mama like that before.”

“He's just testing the boundaries.” Ian spoke as he walked into the room, looking between the pair of them. “Fiona used to complain that Carl did the same thing, and now Liam, too.”

“What boundaries?” Svetlana asked, her head tilted to the side. Mickey faintly heard the TV from the next room. 

“It's a figure of speech. He's a good kid.” Ian repeated Mickey's words and Svetlana rolled her eyes.

“You sound like lover boy here.” Svetlana spat, but her eyes were twinkling with humour. “Everything ready for today?”

“Cake is in the fridge, you brought all the food with. All we need is shithead friends to arrive.” Mickey said bluntly and Svetlana jabbed at his stomach with her long finger. “The fuck? That fucking hurt!”

She only smiled sweetly and left the kitchen, mumbling in Russian as she did so. Mickey shook his head as Ian came up to Mickey and wrapped his arms around him. “You okay?”

It was the fifth time Ian had asked him that morning. For the last week, Ian had been growing increasingly suspicious of Mickey. Ian had been attempting to disguise it as concern for Mickey, but seeing as Mickey was fucking fine, the latter wasn't falling for it. He knew it was because Ian was still worried about catching Mickey talking to Grace and Mandy so secretively; there'd been a few more incidents since then, including one the week before where Mickey had told Ian that Grace had slept with Iggy. He had drawn out the story that Grace was into Iggy, but he'd pleaded with Ian not to say anything. Grace was still unaware of the stories about her and Iggy that Mickey was spreading and he hoped like fuck she never found out. It was a giant fucking mess and the sooner their anniversary arrived, the fucking better.

“I'm fine. Yev's friends will be arriving soon.” Mickey pulled out of Ian's hold and headed into the next room where Yev was gloating about beating Svetlana in a racing game. Mickey immediately flung himself next to them and pretended to be focused on the game. He could see Ian standing in the doorway watching him but Mickey kept his eyes focused on the TV. Two long fucking months before their anniversary.

Yevgeny's eighth birthday party was in full swing. A few boys were playing on Mickey's game console – including Liam – and taking turns at shouting instructions to whoever was playing. Another two were sitting at the table in the kitchen with their phones out – Mickey had scoffed at them and received a harsh look from Yev. There were two girls in attendance who were sitting on the couch behind the boys on the PlayStation and desperately asking for their turn. Yevgeny had two boys tailing him as he introduced them all to his family.

“And these are my dads – Ian and Mickey.” Mickey fought the urge to scowl that Ian's name came first and offered the two kids a grim smile. They each looked between Ian and Mickey with matching weird looks on their faces.

“Dads? You have two?” The taller of the boys asked, raising an eyebrow at Yevgeny. A look from Svetlana told Mickey that this was Sonny, the boy she'd been complaining about earlier. Mickey nodded tightly at her before fixing his stare on Sonny, silently challenging him. He grew up with a homophobic father; this kid was nothing. Ian was smirking as he took a step closer to Mickey.

“Yes.” Yevgeny stated proudly, puffing up his chest and almost daring this kid to say something – like father, like son Mickey thought with a grin.

“But you're only supposed to have one.” The smaller kid piped up, seemingly too scared to look away from Yevgeny again. “I only have one.”

“Well, I'm lucky. I have two.” Yevgeny replied, raising his eyebrows in a perfect impression of Mickey. The taller kid shrugged and they all filed out of the kitchen. Svetlana, who had been watching the entire time, came over and snorted at Mickey and Ian who were now defiantly holding hands.

“They are children, you idiots. Are you trying to start something with children?”

“No, but -” Ian began but Svetlana cut him off with one of her signature glares.

“They're kids. Calm down, carrot boy.” Svetlana shook her head, tutting under her breath. “You two are like old married couple.”

Mickey dropped Ian's hand as if it had been burned and headed for the next room without another word. He heard Svetlana and Ian talking but he ignored them and stood to watch the two girls who were now on the PlayStation. They were better than any of the boys had been and the Liam's shocked look was enough to make Mickey laugh. His eyes glazed over and he let his mind wander. Keeping this secret from Ian was becoming the hardest thing he'd ever done. Every time someone mentioned marriage or weddings or fucking rings, Mickey couldn't help but freak out. It was no wonder Ian was becoming suspicious; Mickey was hardly playing it fucking cool.

Mickey's phone was in his pocket and it beeped, announcing a text message. He pulled it out and groaned silently; it was from Grace.

_What the fuck, Mickey?! You told Ian that I liked Iggy? What if Iggy finds out and thinks that I fucking do? Christ, the sooner you get this damn proposal over with, the better._

Mickey deleted the text with a quick look over his shoulder – Ian was still talking to Svetlana and hadn't noticed Mickey acting suspicious – fucking yet again – with his phone. Trying hard to keep his anger at his self at bay, he shoved his phone back into his pocket and headed for the toilet. He would hide there for five minutes and get himself under control; he was acting like a fucking idiot.

–

“Well, that went well, didn't it?” Ian called through the shower door as water ran over his head; Mickey's shape was moving around the bathroom as steam filled the small room. “That Sonny is a little trouble maker.”

“Apparently he's been a bit of a bad influence on Yev. I didn't like his smart ass fucking face.”

Ian snorted, the noise sounding loud over the water. “He's just a kid. Svetlana is right – we sound like an old married couple.”

Ian had forced his words to sound light-hearted but his ears were strained waiting for Mickey's response. Right on cue, Mickey mumbled something and then walked out of the bathroom. Almost instantly, Ian's mind went into overdrive but he took a deep breath and finished rinsing the shampoo from his hair. This didn't mean anything. 

But what if it did? Everything pointed back to Mickey being weird about getting married – not that they'd ever talked about it, but that was the second time that day that marriage had been mentioned and Mickey had walked away. He acted odd every time it was mentioned and Ian couldn't help but think that his grand idea of proposing to Mickey was going to go horribly wrong; Mickey would say no and then where would they be? Would they break up? Or be one of those couples that never got married?

Ian frowned, turning off the hot water and instantly feeling cool air creep in. He climbed out and reached for his towel. Why wouldn't Mickey want to marry him? When he was thinking rationally, Ian knew that Mickey loved him. If Mickey didn't want to get married, it had to be something to do with him as opposed to a problem with Ian. But what would it be? Ian wondered briefly if he should push it but decided against it; not now. The time would come and he could approach the topic carefully but right now, he wanted to climb into bed and forget all about it.

–

_One year after//_

By the time Mickey woke up, it was well after midday. A quick glance at his phone – but not long because his head was still softly thumping away – told him that it was almost four in the afternoon. He'd been sleeping for at least four or five hours. He felt groggy, sick. His mouth had a foul taste and he reached for the bottle of water he kept next to the bed. A slide show of random thoughts and memories were swimming around in his mind but none of them made sense yet. He was still half asleep.

Slowly, like water dripping from a leaking tap, a clearer picture was forming in his mind of what had happened earlier that day. His memory had returned. Or, more specifically, his memories of Ian and their life together had returned. And it had been painful. Both physically and emotionally; his head was a reminder of that. The bedside table had only one drawer and after the accident, both Sally and Mandy had kept it stocked with painkillers. Mickey reached in now and pulled out a few, swallowing them quickly. 

Mickey was aware that his back felt damp and he felt his forehead. It was wet with sweat. He felt sticky and sat up slowly, taking a deep breath as he did so. He wanted to call someone but there was still a hint of anger at his sister; he didn't want to call her. Taking his time, Mickey headed for the bathroom and stood under the hot shower for at least fifteen minutes, attempting to empty his mind but it didn't work. Ian's face was blurry in his mind's eye and he wanted to swat it away.

In clean clothes, Mickey padded out to the living room and lay down on the couch, his phone in hand. He had two messages waiting for him that he hadn't noticed earlier.

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I thought it might help you remember. I didn't want to upset you like that. Let me know you're okay, Mickey._

Mickey wasn't sure how to respond to Mandy; it wasn't her fault in any way. How could she have known that would happen? They'd been trying to get his memory to return ever since the accident. She had no way of knowing that today was finally the day that their attempts would work. And even if she had known, there was no way any of them could have predicted how it had made Mickey feel and how much it had fucking hurt. He sent her a quick reply letting her know he was okay – but not letting her know that his memory had returned just yet – and read the next one.

_Do you wanna get dinner?_

The second message had only been sent half an hour ago – Mickey wondered if it had been what had woken him up. It was from Debbie, and Mickey remembered the call earlier. It had been Debbie's voice that had triggered the very first flash of memory. In a rush, he knew he wanted to talk to her, see her. He hit the call button and waited.

“Hey, Mick.”

Mickey paused for a split second, waiting, expecting more memories but there were none. “Debbie, can you come over?”

“For dinner?”

“Yes but now – can you come now?”

Maybe she heard it in his voice, or maybe she was just intuitive because Mickey could already hear her moving on the other end of the line as she spoke. “I'll be there in ten.”

It was the longest ten minutes he'd ever experienced. Mickey had been trying ever since he woke up to slow the different memories that were filtering back to him but it wasn't easy. They kept coming at him. There was no order or sequence to them. One minute, he would be picturing the first date he ever went on with Ian and the next, he could see himself in New York with Ian. His head had thankfully stopped thumping but that only made the memories more prominent in his mind.

There was a decision to be made, he knew. He'd known ever since the first memory had come hurling back at him and he knew it now. Whether or not to tell Ian was the one thought that occupied his mind aside from the memories. It was half the reason he'd called Debbie over. Mickey was at a loss at where to even begin – he had no fucking clue what to do. He was hoping Debbie would be able to tell him what to do but essentially, it was his fucking decision and he hated it.

Telling Ian...telling Ian meant ruining whatever Ian had with the blonde Mickey had seen him with. The image of them sitting in Mood came back to Mickey. Had they looked happy? It had happened so fast – he couldn't even properly remember what they looked like, especially the blonde. All Mickey had seen was Ian and then he'd had no chance – it had all come back. Now, he screwed up his face and tried to remember what they'd looked like. Had they been holding hands? Sharing a plate of food? His mind was filling in the blanks with lies, things that may or may not have been true. He had no way of knowing. Mickey rubbed his face and pushed it aside. He'd just heard a car outside.

The spring air meant cool evenings and in the time since he'd woken up, the temperature had dropped slightly and as Mickey opened the front door to watch Debbie hurry up the front path, he shivered a little. Debbie reached the front door, her bang hanging over her shoulder as she bundled herself inside.

“What's going on? Are you okay? You sounded -”

“It came back. My memory. Memories. Of Ian. Everything. It's all back.” Mickey's words came out broken as he stumbled over them. He shut the front door and followed Debbie to the couch. Her mouth was hanging open and Mickey stared at her. “Everything.”

“I fucking knew it.” Debbie hissed, shaking her head and sitting her bag on the floor at her feet. “When? How?”

“I was supposed to be meeting Mandy and Grace this morning but Ian – Ian was there. With someone else. It was just so sudden.”

“And you remember...everything?” Debbie asked carefully, not taking her eyes from Mickey's face. He nodded tightly.

“I think so. I don't remember the accident, or the morning before it. I can't even remember the day before it. But I remember everything else – I remember my life with Ian.” Silence followed his words as the two friends stared at each other for a few moments. Mickey knew the same question of whether or not to tell Ian was currently flitting through Debbie's mind, too.

“Are you okay?”

Mickey felt his cheeks redden slightly; he'd been so emotional when it had all come back and he felt like Debbie could automatically see it on his face. He cleared his throat and grunted out a reply. “I'm okay now. It hurt – my head – I had a fucking killer headache when it happened but I slept and it's gone now.”

He didn't want to go into detail of how much it had hurt emotionally. How much it still hurt. The memory that was currently sticking out in his mind, out of them all, was the image of Ian sitting at that table with someone else. All at once, he realised that it was jealousy he was feeling. Anger and jealousy because Ian was his. Used to be his. Fuck.

“What...what are you going to do?”

The question that had been bugging him had finally been voiced. He knew what he had to do. He knew what the right thing was. But he didn't want to do it.

“I don't know.” He lied, looking away from Debbie. Would she try and make him do it? Make him tell Ian? “What do you think?”

Debbie reached down and pulled her bag up onto her knee. She was reaching around inside for something and Mickey waited. Clutching something in her hand, she held it in her lap with her bag now back on the floor. “Do you remember what you were planning?”

“Mandy told me I was going to propose. But I remember it myself, now. I remember buying the – ring.” His voice hitched as Debbie held out her hand, a ring lying her palm. The light in the room made it shine slightly and Mickey reached out to take it. He had bought this. He remembered the attendant – Ella? – and he could remember the excitement he'd felt. The nerves. Trying to keep it from Ian. Fuck. 

“I was looking after it for you. You were supposed to pick it up after work on the night of your accident – six years ago today, by the way.”

Their earlier phone call came back to him and Debbie's muck up – she had said six and then changed it to one. “That's why you said six on the phone?”

“I wanted to tell you what today was but I decided against it.” Mickey mulled this over in his mind. One year since his accident. Six years with Ian. Mickey shook his head; they never made it to six years, did they? Mickey's dumb fucking head saw to that. And now Ian had moved on and Mickey was fucking alone. Debbie moved closer to Mickey and he hated the pity he saw in her face. “You have to tell him.”

It was what Mickey wanted to do, but hearing Debbie suggest it made it sound wrong. “I can't. He was with someone else – you must know he's with someone else? He doesn't want me any more.”

Debbie sighed to herself. “He does. He hasn't given up on you, Mick. He never did.”

“Then why was he with someone else today? He moved on. I don't fucking blame him.”

“He's an idiot – I know him better than anyone and I know that he's a fucking idiot. He is trying to move on but it's hard for him.” Debbie's voice was almost pleading with him and Mickey sank back into the couch, feeling beaten down. “He hasn't given up. You shouldn't either.”

The ring was still in Mickey's hand. He stared at it now, remembering the day he'd bought it and the excitement he'd felt every time he thought about it hidden at Debbie's house. He could feel some of that excitement within him now but it was hidden under other things. Sadness, loneliness. Defeat. He could feel tears threatening and he desperately tried to blink them away. The day had been full of emotion and he was worn out with it. He didn't want to cry in front of Debbie. He didn't want to cry at all. Once more, he wished it would all go away.

“It's something to think about.” Mickey said stupidly. He put the ring on the table in front of him and studied his hands intently. 

“Something to think about?” Debbie asked, the disbelief clear in her voice. She stared at him and he felt a hint of shame. “Ian has been waiting a year for this to happen and now that it finally has, you don't think he deserves to -”

“I know he won't want anything to do with me!” Mickey burst out. “You think it was easy remembering all of that? You think I had a grand old time remembering each and every fucking reason why I was happy, and then remembering I didn't have that now? Now think about how fucking shit it is going to be to tell Ian what I remember and to have him laugh in my face because he's moved on!”

“He hasn't -”

“Bullshit! It's been a year!”

Debbie's face was a flaming red to match her hair and it reminded Mickey of Ian, as much as he hated it. She stood up in a rush, her bag in her hands and anger boiling over. “You are being ridiculous. You seem to be forgetting -”

Mickey cut her off yet again, his voice low and cold. “I wish I had never remembered this. I wish I'd still forgotten everything.”

“Jesus christ. When you come to your senses, let's talk about this. But right now, Mickey, I can't stand the fucking sight of you.”

And with that, Debbie stormed out of his house and towards her car. Mickey stomped up to the window watching her go – she was on her phone as she pulled away in her car and he wondered if she was calling Mandy. Fuck, what if she called Ian? No. That wouldn't be fair and as angry as she had been, he didn't think she'd do that to him.

He didn't like arguing with Debbie. He'd hoped for advice but instead, Mickey had been an idiot about it and driven her away. Another memory was coming back to him – an argument with her once before. He couldn't quite remember why they had argued, but it had been horrible. She had always been as close to him as Grace was, and they'd gotten back to that point after his accident. Now, he thought bitterly as he flung his body back on the couch, he was going to throw that all away just because he was being sullen.

Of course he had to tell Ian. He knew that from the moment the memories had come pouring back into his consciousness. That didn't mean that Mickey wanted to tell Ian, or that he was looking forward to actually fucking doing it. It was a giant fucking mess. Mickey had to tell Ian. He didn't want to tell Ian. He'd gone to Debbie for support and ended up arguing with her. He was still partly angry at Mandy, but he had no valid reason to be. 

He cast his mind back to just a week ago. He would have given anything right in that moment to go back to a week, even a few days ago. The blissful fucking ignorance – none of this bullshit. None of the memories and the pain that came with them. None of the stress, or the headaches, or the feeling of hopelessness. And he was lonely. What he wouldn't give to go right back, back to the beginning when he didn't feel lonely. 

But then, back then, he didn't feel fucking anything. Everyday had been a new one – learning that his son was no longer little, that he was fucking eight years old, almost nine. Learning that he had his own business, car, house. Everyday had been the same. He felt nothing other than what people told him to. That and confusion. If he was given the choice, which would he prefer? To feel nothing, know nothing? Or to know everything and feel only the emptiness of being alone?

Well, he thought with a scowl on his face, he had no choice, now. It had been made for him; there was no going back. His phone started to ring and Mickey saw his sister's face staring up at him. As much as he wanted to wallow in his own self-pity, he sighed and answered the phone.

“Is it true? Have you remembered it all?” Clearly, Mickey had been right about Debbie calling Mandy. Word spread fucking fast in this family. “Mickey?”

“Yes.” Mandy swore loudly. There was a voice in the background and Mickey frowned as Mandy mumbled something in response to the voice. “Is that Grace?”

“When did it all come back? When you saw him this morning?”

“Yes, Mandy. I'd like to blame you but it wasn't really your fault.” The anger was still evident in his tone – and the fact that he was gritting his teeth – but he fought it back. He didn't want another argument. “It just...it's unfair.”

Unfair. He sounded like a fucking child but no other word seemed to fit. “How is it unfair? You've got your memories back!”

Mickey sighed deeply and let his breath slowly leave his body. He was tired. It had been a long and incredibly emotional day. He wanted to go the fuck to sleep, not stay up all night discussing the details of his mind. “Why don't you come over in the morning? I'll tell you all the fuck about it.”

“Alright. Are you okay, though?”

“Christ, yes. I just want to sleep.”

“Alright, alright.” Mandy mumbled a goodbye and Mickey hung up the phone, somehow managing to pick his body up and head for his bedroom. He didn't want to eat, he didn't want to do anything. Bed and sleep was the only thing for him. Throughout the afternoon with Debbie and on the phone to Mandy, random memories would pop up every few minutes as if to say 'I'm here, too!'. It was driving Mickey insane; with sleep, there was at least the chance that he would escape them for awhile. 

Every now and then, instead of a memory, Ian's face would just appear in Mickey's mind. Sometimes his face would smile, sometimes he would just be staring. But it unnerved Mickey; he still felt like someone else should be in the house with him. It was a conflicting feeling that swallowed him as he collapsed into his bed; he wanted nothing more than to go back to knowing nothing, feeling nothing. But at the same time, he could feel the yearning within him. He wanted Ian back. He wanted to share the house with him again, share the bed with him. Laugh with him. Hold him. Before he even realised what was happening, there were tears making tracks down Mickey's face. He wiped them away furiously.

One hit to the head and he lost everything. And now he wasn't even sure he would get the chance to try and get it back again. One year and it was all gone. It felt weird to be this upset; his memories hadn't included being out, being comfortable with who he was. And now Mickey was lying in bed crying because he couldn't be with the man he loved. He'd grown more than he could remember and it was hard for him to come to terms with the fact that the man he was now was not the same person he remembered being. There were two parts of his brain trying to reconcile; the part that remembered everything from the last five years, and the part that was still unsure about everything.

Unfair. It was unfair. It was unfair that this had happened to him, to him and Ian. It was unfair that Ian had lost everything and it was just as unfair that Mickey had, too. But for some fucking reason, it had all come back to Mickey. There had to be a reason for that, right? Mickey rolled over in bed, facing the empty space where Ian should have been lying. He had to tell Ian. He would tell Ian. He just wasn't sure when or how.


	22. We Don't Want That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So, you better hush and walk away.'"

_One month before//_

“Ian, do you remember Nina?”

Ian swung around in his chair, the pen he'd been using still hanging out of his mouth, and his phone in his hand. Hitomi rolled her eyes at him and he let the pen fall into his lap. “Maybe. Refresh my memory?”

Hitomi stood up from her desk and came to stand in front of Ian's; he gave her his full attention now and put his phone down as she handed him a small folder. “Nina George. Studying business and economics. She was in about a month ago for a chat about her anxiety?”

“Oh! Yes. I remember her. What's up?”

“She's coming in today to see me but I've got an ultrasound appointment that I forgot about. Can you please see her?”

Ian bit his lip; his phone had lit up with a new message on his desk and he strained to keep his eyes on his co-worker. After a quick mental check of his afternoon, he shook his head. “Shit – no, I'm sorry! I'm supposed to be meeting Mickey.”

He knew straight away that Hitomi was annoyed but there was nothing he could do about it. She nodded and returned to her desk, her pregnant belly bobbing along as she walked. Ian picked up his phone and saw a message from Mickey.

_Can't do this afternoon any more. See you tonight._

They were only going to meet for a drink before heading home for dinner. That's all it was. They'd had it planned for the last week. Ian had been looking forward to it more than he'd let on to Mickey; a feeling of separation had slowly been building in Ian. He could feel Mickey pulling away, ever so slightly. Mickey would bundle himself up and not talk – Ian could barely get a few words out about Mickey's day before there was some reason or another why they couldn't talk.

The idea of an affair had crossed Ian's mind multiple times. At least once or twice a week. Sometimes several times a day. He didn't want to believe it. He wouldn't let his self believe it. Mickey wouldn't do that to him, would he? Five years. That would be such a waste. No. That wouldn't be it.

But was the alternative any better? That Mickey was losing interest? Ian had recently tried new things in the bedroom – spurred on by a random online article – but it had only ended in an argument when Mickey had refused to give it a go. Ian had no idea what else to do.

Ian sent back a quick text and set the issue aside. He still wasn't sure whether or not he would bring it up with Mickey. Could he be bothered starting an argument that would likely end in Mickey not saying anything?

“I can do it, Tomi.”

When Nina had left the office later that afternoon and Ian was left on his own, he started to feel the uncertainty crawl back into the slowly darkening room. Maybe the worst part of his bipolar was the anxiety that came with it; sometimes, Ian could keep it at bay. Other times, his mind would spin off into a world of it's own and subject him to several different explanations for Mickey's behaviour, each of them as horrible as the last.

He needed to get it out but he wasn't sure he wanted to confess how twisted his mind was over the whole thing to Mickey just yet; Debbie popped into his head and he dialled her number.

“Hey, Ian. What's up?”

“Are you at work?”

“Just finished. They all have the flu so I got to go home early. You okay?”

Ian took a deep breath. “I think Mick is losing interest. In me. Us. Our relationship.”

Silence. It sent a jolt of panic straight up Ian's spine but he fought it away. If Mickey had a problem with Ian or their relationship, he was more likely to go to Grace or Mandy rather than Debbie – if he went to anyone at all. Debbie didn't know anything. He cleared his throat and she spoke suddenly. “That's ridiculous. What gave you that idea?”

“I don't know.” Ian leaned back in his seat, glancing outside to see the final light of the day slowly disappearing. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “I don't know. I just...feel it? Christ, that sounds fucking insane.”

“It doesn't, but I don't understand where you're coming from. Did Mickey say something?”

“No.”

“Did he do something?”

“No.” Ian was starting to feel stupid. His cheeks were heating up and he looked around his office hopelessly. “It's more – I don't know. It's more how he's acting. He doesn't want to talk much. And he keeps cancelling plans!”

As if this was concrete evidence that Debbie couldn't possibly ignore, Ian began to switch off the lights in the office and prepared his bag to leave for home. “Isn't he really busy at work?”

“He's always busy at work.” Ian mumbled, more to himself than Debbie. He could hear her sighing on the other end of the phone and he stood up, bringing his laptop bag with him. “Whatever. It's probably nothing.”

“No, Ian – wait -”

He hung up, feeling like a child as he did so. His emotions swung from one extreme to another; he would go from feeling humiliated, like he was making something out of nothing, to being convinced that Mickey was cheating and everyone knew about it except for Ian. It was fucking ridiculous and Ian was fucking sick of it. He slammed the office door shut on his way out and held his bag tightly. He was sick of this. He was going to say something to Mickey and this time he was going to get an answer.

–

Mickey was going to pay for cancelling his plans with Ian but there was no way around it. To sit in a bar with a drink and have to talk? Fuck that. Mickey could barely keep his mouth fucking shut every morning and night – he was so close to falling onto one knee and just fucking screaming the question at Ian just to get it out and feel the weight fucking lifted from his shoulders. Mickey reread Ian's text from earlier.

_Okay. See you later on then._

Yeah. Ian was fucking pissed. How the fuck was Mickey going to get out of this one? His office was dark, the only light coming from his computer where his email inbox sat, taunting him with the emails that needed answering. Still staring at the message, Mickey jumped as his phone started to ring in his hand.

“Debbie, what's up?”

“You fucking idiot! Ian thinks you're losing interest!”

“Wait – what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Ian just called me and told me that you're acting weird – he thinks you're losing interest in him.” Debbie explained, her voice harsh. It wasn't often that Mickey was on the receiving end of Debbie's anger but it was never fun when it happened. “Can you not handle keeping a secret?”

“No, I fucking can't! Are you serious? This shit is eating me up.”

“Well get fucking with it, Mickey! Ian is no doubt going to ask you about tonight so get your fucking story straight and make him feel fucking loved!”

Debbie hung up, leaving Mickey with his mouth open and a dumb look on his face. He stared at the phone before shaking his head roughly. Fuck this. He dialled Mandy's number, panic starting to set in.

“What do you want?”

“I need you to go see Ian – or call him, I don't give a fuck – and plant a story.”

Mandy burst into laughter and Mickey heard a female voice in the background. Grace? “Do you know how fucking stupid you sound?”

“I don't have time for your shit! Fucking tell Ian some bullshit about me – he thinks I'm losing interest.”

“How do you know?”

“He told Debbie. She told me.”

“And now you want me to call Ian like some kind of fucking round robin?” Mandy demanded. The voice in the background laughed and Mickey recognised it; it was Grace.

“Maybe you could do this for me and I won't ask what's going on with you and Grace.” Mickey managed to get out through gritted teeth. He had no idea what was going on with Mandy and Grace but it had worked. Mandy sputtered for a moment before responding.

“Fucking fine. What am I saying?”

“I don't fucking know!” Mickey chewed his lip painfully, immediately regretting it as he tasted blood. Cursing under his breath, he thought for a moment. “Tell him...tell him I wanted to plan something big for our anniversary but I couldn't think of anything and that's why I'm avoiding him. Because I feel bad.”

“Jesus fucking christ, Mickey. How long until you propose?”

“A fucking month of this, Mandy. Can you do it?”

“This is like a goddamn high school movie. Yes, I'll fucking do it.”

“And make it sound genuine!” Mickey pleaded, suddenly desperate. He wasn't going to let Mandy know that it upset him to know Ian thought that of him; he only hoped that Ian would hold on another month so that Mickey could explain it all away.

“Fuck you. I'm a good actor.”

–

Ian pulled into the driveway, staring up at the house with a grim look on his face. Mickey wasn't home yet but Ian knew he wouldn't be. As he pulled his laptop bag up from the floor of the passenger seat and climbed out of the car, his phone started to ring. Hoping it was Mickey, Ian was disappointed to see that it was Mandy. He considered not answering it but, sighing deeply, answered it anyway.

“Hey, Mandy.”

“Ian! Hi!” Her voice was so bright Ian almost flinched. Maybe she realised because she cleared her throat and continued, her tone a little more normal this time. “Where are you?”

Ian put his laptop bag on the ground as he unlocked the front door. “Walking through the door. What's up?”

“Oh, not much.” Ian waited for her to elaborate; he could sense there was something else there. Silence. He didn't have to wait long, though, as he shut the front door behind him. “Listen, Debbie called.”

Ian groaned loudly, rolling his eyes for good measure. “Of course she did. I'm fine.”

“You're not. But I know the story behind it all.”

Ian froze, halfway down the hallway to the bedroom he shared with Mickey. “What story?”

“Well, it's not a story. But I know why Mickey is acting the way he is.”

“And?”

“He wanted to plan something special for your anniversary but he couldn't think of anything.” Mandy spoke as if she was revealing some huge secret; Ian frowned, sitting on the bed and staring at his feet.

“That's it?”

“That's pretty much it. I know it sounds stupid but he was really panicking and trying to think of something.” Mandy explained, her voice soft. Softer than it normally was but it made sense to Ian. “He's not losing interest in you, Ian.”

Ian let his breath slowly leave him, relief flooding in. Mickey was just worried he hadn't planned anything for their anniversary? “You're sure?”

“I'm sure.”

Ian hadn't told anyone what he was planning but in the spur of the moment, the words gushed out before he could stop them. “I'm going to propose to him, Mandy. On our anniversary.”

He wasn't sure what reaction he'd expected, but he had not expected Mandy to burst into loud barking laughter. So much laughter that he had to wait quietly, patiently, while she continued to laugh heartily. After at least thirty seconds, he heard a voice in the background and Mandy finally slowed her breathing down and sniffed once or twice.

“The fuck was that about?”

The silence that followed his question could only be described as awkward. Mandy mumbled something Ian couldn't hear and when he asked her to repeat it, she fumbled over her words. “Sorry, I just remembered a funny joke I heard earlier.”

“I'm calling bullshit on that. What was the joke?” He could almost see her panicking. Biting her lip, maybe. Definitely twisting the stud in her nose; she always did that when she was nervous. He knew she was full of shit, but what had been so funny? 

“What? Oh – hang on, Ian.” There was muffled talking and then her voice came back clearly. “I have to go sorry, Ian. I'll talk to you later.”

Mandy hung up the phone on maybe the weirdest conversation Ian had ever had with her before. He stared at the phone in his hand before tossing it aside and letting himself fall backwards onto the bed. He had no idea what to think now.

 

_One year after//_

In the end, breaking up with Charlie had been easy because it had felt right; Ian knew there was no other option and after an awkward half hour full of several poetry recommendations, Ian was able to leave and instantly feel a weight lifted from his shoulders. He wasn't over Mickey. He wasn't sure he ever would be and to have forced it the way he had was stupid. 

The drive home he'd felt happier than he had in a long time. Ian hadn't realised how much of a toll his relationship – if it could be called that – was taking on his mental health. He pulled up outside Fiona's house, the house he grew up in, and sat in his car for a moment. Why was he happy? He didn't have Mickey. He didn't have his house. He lived with his sister, for fuck's sake. He didn't even have Charlie to keep him company. What did he have? It was six years today that he had started dating Mickey. Six years. But did it even count if they hadn't been together for the last year?

Alone. Ian felt alone. It came crashing into him. He knew no one would be home inside; Carl was rarely home during the days and Fiona had mentioned taking Liam and Yevgeny out somewhere. Ian took his time getting out of the car and walking up the steps. He was in no rush to do anything.

In a wave of sadness, Ian felt a different weight settle in on him. Defeat. He had nothing, now. He'd been feeling himself drifting away from his old life, little by little. He hardly ever talked to Mandy or Grace any more; he had already decided not to meet her for dinner and had text her to tell her that. It only reminded him of Mickey and he was sick to death of it. Mickey was everywhere. It was almost impossible to see Yevgeny; it had been so long since Ian had seen him but the last time he had, he'd cried the moment Yev had left. 

One year and Ian was still in the same position he'd been when Mickey had looked at Ian's face and not recognised it. As he traipsed up the stairs and into his bedroom, Ian felt that he could get into bed and never leave it. He was lost without Mickey and pretending he was okay wasn't going to get him anywhere. Maybe he should waste away for a little while, he thought with a small scoff. As if his family would let him. He had no idea what he needed, or what would finally work and make him feel better but he was sick to fucking death of feeling so bereft. 

Ian climbed into his bed and pulled the covers over his body, ignoring the fact that it the sun was still shining outside, that it was only just midday. He wanted the world to disappear, he wanted to go back to a year and a day ago. Go back to Mickey, go back to his life back then. Ian wanted to go back and not take even a single second for granted.

Ian's phone was still in his pocket and he felt it vibrate. He didn't care who it was. Without even looking at it, he pulled it out and let it fall to the floor. Why did this have to be so hard? Because Mickey had been it for Ian. The answer had been there all along, really. Mickey was it. There had been no one else and Ian had known it so soon into their relationship that in the beginning he'd been scared of it. It was ironic considering Mickey had taken so long to truly show how he felt towards Ian; Ian had known straight away that it was different but it had scared him. If he'd known...if he had known how things would change, he would have done more. Said more. 

Birds were singing outside; a ridiculous way to remind Ian that the world was still going, people were still living and he was wasting the day in bed. He didn't give a shit. If it took him another year, he would mourn as much as he needed to. Because that's what this was, essentially. He was mourning Mickey, mourning the loss of the only thing in his life that he got right. Mourning the life he'd had with Mickey, the house they'd lived in. Shit, he missed the fucking arguments and the times they'd stay in bed all day. He wasn't sure how long he'd been crying for but Ian suddenly realised that his cheeks and the pillow were wet. He wiped them away roughly and took a deep breath; he was exhausted in so many ways. 

Ian must have fallen asleep because he was woken by his phone ringing. Half asleep and groggy, his head pounding slightly with a headache, he reached over the edge of the bed to fumble for his phone. The ringing didn't stop and, with the blanket still over his head, Ian caught himself in enough time before he toppled over the side of the bed.

“Fuck!” He muttered, his hand finally locking onto the phone as it stopped ringing. He groaned loudly and looked at the screen. It was after four in the afternoon which would be why he felt so groggy. The missed call was from Mandy and he had a text from her, too.

_Answer your goddamn phone, Gallagher!_

He wasn't sure he wanted to, though. What would she have to say? An update on Mickey? He didn't want to hear it. Even if it was nothing to do with Mickey, he didn't have any energy left in him for any type of social interaction. As he went to reply, Mandy rung again and on a whim, he answered it.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“Jesus, sleeping. The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Sleeping? Are you okay?” 

Ian fumbled around in his brain for a decent excuse. “Migraine.”

“Is that why we aren't doing dinner any more?” Ian was sure he was imagining it, but there was something in her voice. He had no idea what it was, or why it was even registering to him as different. “Are you okay, Ian?”

“I'm fine. What's up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Mickey.”

Jesus fucking christ. Ian felt a wave of emotion wash over him; he was sick of the name. He was sick of everything that came with it. “I don't really want to talk about him, Mandy.”

“No – you don't understand. He's -”

For the first time in their friendship, Ian hung up on his best friend. He didn't want to hear a single word about Mickey. It was too much. Despite his sleep, he was still fucking exhausted. Turning his phone off and getting up only to go to the toilet and shut his curtains, Ian settled back in under the blankets.

He wanted to forget. That's what it would take to get over Mickey, because it wasn't getting over him at all. Getting over Mickey was such a stupid way to look at it; he couldn't, plain and simple. He couldn't do it. It was always Ian and Mickey, that's the way it was always supposed to be. Their names were linked together forever; there couldn't be one without the other. There was no one else now. It was Ian and no one – he wanted to forget it all. He wanted to wipe it all from his memory just as Mickey had unintentionally done. Ian forced his eyes closed, squeezing them tight as if he could wring the memories out of them for good. He knew it wouldn't work, but that didn't stop him hoping.

–

The morning following the one year anniversary of his accident, Mickey had expected to wake up without his memories of Ian once again. He wasn't sure why because the memories had been tangible the night before; they had been real, as if he could reach out and hold them close. But for some reason, Mickey was convinced that they would all be gone the next day. He was wrong. He had dreamed about Ian and remembered every single moment of it. He woke up on Ian's side – what used to be Ian's side – of the bed and felt as if he hadn't slept at all. The emotions of the day before were still high; he had not forgotten a single shred of it.

The need to tell Ian was still there, too. It was stronger this morning. As Mickey slowly got up and showered, feeling slightly better for it, he could feel it inside him beating alongside his heart. He needed to see Ian, somehow explain what was going on inside of him. And besides flat out telling him that his memories had returned, Mickey wanted to see him. Just see him. Take in his face, his whole being. It was an ache within him that was growing by the hour and he couldn't deny it much longer.

“Mandy. When did you last speak to Ian?” He'd called his sister before she even had a chance to come over like she'd planned. Mickey felt desperate.

“I talked to him last night but -”

“Did you tell him?” It sounded as though Mickey had woken his sister up but he didn't need to explain what he was referring to; she got it.

“No, he didn't want to talk about you.”

“Wait – why the fuck not?” He couldn't help but feel a hint of panic. Was that because he'd moved on and didn't even want anything to do with Mickey any more? Couldn't even bear to hear Mickey's name? “What did he say?”

Mandy sighed into the phone and Mickey waited patiently. “I told him I wanted to talk about you and he hung up on me. He didn't sound good.”

“I don't give a fuck how he sounded!”

“What the fuck are you calling me at this hour for, anyway?”

Why did he want to call his sister? Mickey sat down on the sofa and closed his eyes for a moment, refocusing. “I want you to warn Ian. I – I know he's with someone else. Could you warn him and say some shit like you think my memory is coming back?”

“What would that achieve?” Mandy asked pointedly, a rustling noise coming from her end of the phone. Mickey briefly wondered if his suspicions had been right – had she got back together with Grace? That didn't matter now.

“I don't know!” Mickey hissed.

“Listen, Mickey. Ian is with someone else but it's not...it's not you. It's only been a month or some bullshit. But that doesn't matter. Ian is drifting away from me. I don't know what the fuck to do about it but he doesn't take my calls as much any more. He hasn't seen Yev in a long time, or Grace, or Svetlana. I don't think I'll be able to warn him, Mick.”

Mickey took in her words, slowly digesting them. Ian didn't talk to any of their friends any more, he barely talked to his best friend. He was detaching himself from everything that reminded him of Mickey. 

“Gotta go.” Mickey mumbled into his phone and hung it up. 

He felt defeated. Ian had moved on. Ian didn't want anything to do with him any more. Even his own sister, his own son was too much for Ian. Had it really been that easy for him? Had Ian really found it that simple to move on? Memories were coming back stronger and stronger as the day wore on; Mickey knew he wasn't imagining what they'd had between them. It had been real, and it had been intense, and Mickey knew he wasn't giving up without a fight.

Anger was filling him now. How could Ian forget it all? How could he act as if it was nothing? Even if Mickey didn't remember shit, how could he treat Mandy and Yevgeny like that? He stood up, picking up his phone and making a decision right there and then. He was going to see Ian. Now. This morning. There was nothing else for it and the need inside of him to see Ian wouldn't let him do anything else. There was a brief moment where he felt like an idiot. What had become of him? What had happened to the fucking idiot who would go on drug runs with his dad and join him in yelling abuse at anyone daring to be who they truly were when Mickey himself was too scared? Ian had happened. And it was lame, and it was a giant fucking cliché but Mickey didn't give a flying fuck.

Before he knew it, Mickey was in his car. Somehow he just knew where Ian would be. He couldn't remember anyone telling him where Ian had moved to – maybe Debbie or Mandy had mentioned it, he didn't remember. Ian would be at his sister's house. Would Mandy have managed to get a hold of him? Warn him? Mickey realised he didn't care. He didn't care about anything except Ian. Seeing him and telling him everything. He refused to think about what would happen afterwards; would Ian nod and ask him to leave? Would he even listen to Mickey?

All too soon, Mickey was outside the Gallagher house. Ian's car was outside. Another memory came hurling back at him and with a jolt, Mickey remembered the morning of the accident. Getting up. Trying to act as if he had to work that evening when he knew he would be on one knee proposing. Getting a lift to work with him. Mickey struggled to remember being dropped off at work but it wouldn't come; he could only remember being in the car with Ian that morning. 

The memory returning only spurred him on further. As if he was walking in a dream, Mickey made his way through the gate and up the front path, taking the steps two at a time. Every possible emotion was running through him as he stood in front of the door. There was movement from inside and he wondered if Ian had seen him approach. Fuck it. He knocked.

It felt like an eternity waiting for someone to open the door. As he heard noises from the other side, it occurred to Mickey that other people might be home – it was still reasonably early on a Sunday morning. His heart thumping heavily in his chest, Mickey watched as the door opened.

And there he was. Ian. His Ian. Could he tell something was different? Could he tell that in the last twenty-four hours, everything had changed? Mickey couldn't speak yet. He just stood there and stared. The drum that had been beating loudly within him ever since his memories had returned had now been silenced; he had seen Ian. 

It was starting to get awkward now. Ian raised an eyebrow, not saying anything. Mickey mimicked the expression, biting his lip firmly and running a hand through his hair. Fuck it.

“Hi.”


	23. Way Down We Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you dare to look him right in the eyes?"

_One year and one day after//_

“Hi.”

When Mickey spoke, Ian nearly jumped at the shock of it. He had been almost convinced that the Mickey standing at his door was purely in his imagination. It had seemed too unreal; he was dressed in his old jeans and a t-shirt that had seen better days. Ian remembered that shirt. He'd been on at Mickey for ages to throw it out. He was just watching Ian, watching, waiting for a reply. The same blue eyes Ian had known forever but this time there was something different in them. Ian saw it straight away. Recognition.

“Hey.” Ian managed to breathe back out; another moment of silence before Ian shook his head. “Do you want to come in?”

“Yes, thank you.” 

It was oddly formal. It had never been like that between them before and Ian didn't like it. He stood back and let Mickey walk in front of him. Ian caught a whiff of mint – Mickey's shower gel. It sent his head spinning and he shut the front door, trying to catch himself. He had no idea what Mickey was doing here but the difference he'd seen in his face could only lead to one conclusion. Ian couldn't think about that right now. Hadn't it been what he'd been waiting for? The thought of it actually happening was too much to think about. He was still scared to get his hopes up and have them be ripped to pieces.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.” Ian didn't offer any explanation; Mickey obviously knew who else lived here. What else did he know? Mickey had sat down on the couch and Ian took a seat in the only armchair in the room. He wasn't sure if he should sit next to Mickey or not. An awkwardness settled in on the room and Ian had no idea what to do or say. “How are you?”

“Good. You?”

“Good. Do you want a drink?” The fuck was going on? Ian waited for an answer to his question but Mickey just stared at him. It was a little unnerving.

“Are you? Good, I mean. Are you good?”

Ian squinted for a second as if he was scrutinizing Mickey. The latter's stare never faltered, not once. “I'm great. What's going on?”

Mickey took a breath – Ian felt his own breath hitch in his throat as Mickey opened his mouth to speak – and his eyes never left Ian's face. “My memory came back.”

Ian let his breath all out in one exhale as he heard the words repeated over and over in his head. Ian had been expecting it but at the same time, he really fucking hadn't. His heart had been beating fast ever since he'd opened the door and seen Mickey's face, but now it was going into overdrive and Ian felt like maybe, just maybe, he might pass out. Mickey wasn't elaborating and Ian didn't need him to, not yet. He was still processing those four words. 

It was back. His memory was back. Did that mean everything? Every single detail? At once, a movie trailer of their life together played in Ian's mind and he wondered how much of it Mickey could remember. Would he remember how much they loved each other? How fucking amazing they were together? The silence was too much and Ian tried to respond, but words wouldn't come. Mickey spoke instead.

“I saw you. With your – your friend. Your boyfriend. At Mood yesterday.” Broken fragments of his sentence that slowly strung together to make sense. Ian listened intently, his eyes never leaving Mickey's face. “Mandy arranged to meet me there but I saw you and...it all came back. Everything.”

“Everything?” He hadn't meant to whisper but that's how it came out. Neither of them cared, though. 

“Almost. Some things are still blurry and I don't remember the accident at all.”

“I mean – you remember everything to do with -”

“Us. Yeah.” Mickey ran a hand through his hair, bit his lip. Did he remember that Ian found it hard to resist those traits in him?

Another silence, this one longer. Ian had no idea what to think or feel. His mind had gone weirdly blank and it was hard for him to process his thoughts. His eyes were stinging slightly and he wondered if he would cry. Quietly, he asked, “What do you remember?”

“Everything. I remember meeting you. I remember Mandy trying to set us up for fucking ages. I remember going on dates with you and I remember going to that theme park.”

“While we were there you told me that you -”

“That I loved you. I remember that.” Mickey said heavily, his eyes boring into Ian's. Ian couldn't tear his green away from Mickey's blue; how long had he waited to hear this? He didn't want him to stop talking. He wanted to hear more memories and relive them himself as Mickey spoke.

“What else?”

“I remember our anniversaries. Every single fucking one. I remember going to New York. Mandy graduating and the party we threw for her. Liam choking and me saving him.”

The tears were falling down Ian's face now, whether he wanted them to or not. He barely noticed them, though. All he could see was Mickey. Mickey. The words he'd wanted to hear from him finally coming after a year and still, Ian felt blank. Numb. Why didn't he feel anything?”

“It's all there. Every single memory. Some of them are blurry but more and more come with every hour that goes on. I remembered the morning of the accident as I pulled up outside. It's all coming back.” Mickey paused, biting his lip in that way that would always send Ian over the edge, always drive him crazy. Ian waited, unable to speak. Unable to think. “I was – I remember – I was going to propose to you. On our anniversary. The day of the accident. I was going to ask you to marry me, Ian, because I fucking loved you and that's what I remember most. I remember loving you, Ian.”

Maybe it was Mickey saying his name that finally snapped something into Ian. He shook his head, finally tearing his eyes away from Mickey's face and staring down into his lap. He had no idea what he was feeling inside; a hundred different thoughts and emotions were hitting him and he silently wished he was still sitting there, blank. There was happiness in there, somewhere, but right now it was being clouded by something else. Was it anger? It didn't seem right but that's what it felt like. And even as he sat there, trying to figure out what to say, he could feel it rising. 

–

“I remember loving you, Ian.” Mickey finished, feeling like he was in a fucking romance movie but not giving one shit. He was breathing heavily, memories still returning to him even as he spoke. He could see Ian in front of him and a second Ian in his mind holding him close after Mickey had fought his dad. The real Ian, the one in front of him, looked away from Mickey and into his lap. His hands were twisting together and the room settled into silence. Mickey didn't speak. He'd talked enough – it was Ian's turn. And Mickey would wait as long as it took.

Not that long, it turned out.

“I don't know what to say.” Ian began, still talking to his hands with his head hung low. Mickey could feel his heart rate rising. He wanted to go to Ian, touch him. Remember what it felt like. But he couldn't – not yet. “I don't – this – this is hard for me.”

“I know you're with someone.” Mickey said quickly; fuck. He had come in here all guns fucking blazing talking about memories and proposing – it had been easy to forget that Ian already had someone. He'd moved on. “I just...I thought you should know.”

“You thought that it would be fair to tell me even though I'm happy with someone else?” Something flicked across Ian's face but before Mickey could register what it was, it was gone. All that was left was confusion at what Ian was saying. “Do you really think that's an okay thing to fucking do?”

Mickey's mouth was hanging open as he grasped desperately for something to say. He had no idea why Ian was responding the way he was. “I didn't – I thought you'd want to...to know.”

“Well, you were wrong.”

Mickey didn't understand. He frowned to his self, thinking for a moment; even if Ian had moved on, even though he was with someone else...hadn't Mickey meant that much that Ian would at least want to know? He could feel his own anger starting to rise, now, matching Ian's. “The fuck are you talking about, Gallagher?”

Ian looked shocked, as if he hadn't expected Mickey to reply so angrily. “It's been a year, Mick. I've moved on.”

“Fuck you.” Mickey spat, his voice low. Ian's words had cut him right to the bone; the coldness in them, the hatred. Because that's what it was – hatred. Whether or not Ian meant it, Mickey wasn't sure. Mickey could feel the pain from Ian's words hitting him hard but he would address that later. Right now, he was trying hard not to punch Ian in the fucking face. “Even if you have -”

“I have -”

“Even so, I thought you'd still want to know. Five fucking years we were together and you can throw that all away easily, can you? Shows how much I fucking meant to you.” Mickey shot out, no longer content with sitting on the couch. He stood up and moved behind it, pacing slightly. Before he could say any more, Ian cut in.

“You think it was fucking easy? Put yourself in my fucking shoes, Mick – I walk in after you've had an accident at work. You look at me and...nothing. Fucking nothing!” Ian yelled, his voice filling the room suddenly. Mickey stopped pacing for a moment to watch him. “You didn't know me. And when Mandy told you who I was, you still didn't want to know me. Can you imagine what that was like? You think it was easy for me to walk away from that?”

“You've managed okay so far.” Mickey said cruelly, not caring about hurting Ian. If this was how Ian wanted to fucking play it, then that's how it would fucking be.

“Fuck off – you have no fucking idea, do you? You think you can just come here, like it's all fucking fine, tell me you've got your memory back and everything will be okay?” The stupidity of what Ian was saying almost made Mickey laugh; he bit it back.

“Of course not!”

“Then why? Why now? Why tell me now?” Ian demanded, standing up out of his own chair, his anger seemingly too much to remain sitting. Mickey could feel a headache coming on – it was only little but he knew from experience that it was going to get worse. He focused on Ian in front of him, standing there with his fists clenched at his sides like he wanted to physically fight Mickey. Maybe that's what it would come to. Mickey realised he didn't mind at that moment if it did come to a physical fight.

“Because I wanted to do the decent thing and tell you! I thought – I thought you'd want to fucking know!” Mickey countered. Shouldn't that be enough? He moved back and forth behind the couch as Ian stood watching him. Mickey was struggling to put his thoughts into words; his head was slowly getting worse and his anger at Ian was growing alongside it. “I thought I was doing the right thing!”

“Well, you weren't.” Ian's voice was cold, colder than Mickey could ever remember it being, even in their worst arguments. It was so full of venom. Other arguments were flashing in and out of his mind and it was confusing him, hurting his head further. “You were wrong, Mick. I think you should leave.”

“I'm not fucking leaving!” Mickey burst out, sending a wave of pain straight through his head and causing him to hold his head for a second as it faded almost as fast as it had come. Ian made a jerking movement, as if to come to Mickey's side but he quickly thought better of it and stayed where he was, standing in the living room. Mickey hated him. “I'm not leaving. I'm not walking away from this.”

Ian made a disgusted noise and his face was full of rage. “How dare you – I'm fucking finally okay, finally okay with losing you and you come crawling back -”

“Crawling back? You fucking asshole! I didn't know who you were – I didn't fucking leave or walk away. I had no choice – I didn't know you!” Mickey screamed suddenly, the absurdity of Ian's words making him angrier than he'd been in a long time. “I call fucking bullshit on you being okay, by the way – five years and you can just throw it all aside like that?”

“You say that like I made the decision overnight to forget you. Christ, Mickey – I held on for so fucking long! But you didn't know who I was and you didn't want to. What the fuck was I supposed to do? And you come back now -”

“Stop saying it like that.” Mickey said through gritted teeth, the pain in his head climbing ever higher. “Stop saying it like I chose to come back now. My memory came back yesterday. It fucking knocked me out or I would have been here then. I didn't ask for this to happen, Ian – I didn't choose to stay away from you for a fucking year.”

“I don't – I don't care!” Ian shouted wildly, and Mickey wondered briefly if Ian's anger was getting the better of him, if maybe he didn't mean the things he was saying. It was a thought that would normally give him hope that everything would be okay, but right now there was too much between them. Too much hostility. There was hated between them, too. It was filling the room with every word that was shouted out and Mickey wished he could leave. But he wasn't done, and neither was Ian. “I told you – you should leave. I'm fine and I don't need you.”

Those words would come back to haunt him later, Mickey fucking knew it but he ignored them for now. Another jolt of pain in his head. Mickey wasn't sure how much longer he could keep standing there. “You're fine, are you?”

“Yes.” Ian's face was pinched tight, he wouldn't meet Mickey's eyes. Mickey was overcome with the desire to close the distance between them and force Ian to look at him, find the love that he knew was there – hidden, somewhere – but anger was in the way and Mickey knew Ian would just push him away.

“Fucking bullshit. You paid half of my fucking rent for how long? Months! You babysat Yev so Svetlana could visit me and cook for me – you made me that fucking book -”

“That was in the past, Mickey.” Ian shot out, his eyes flashing angrily at Mickey. Mickey stood still now; his head hurt too much to keep pacing. They faced each other in a bizarre scene, anger radiating from them both. 

“So fucking what? All of a sudden that shit doesn't matter? All of a sudden I don't matter?”

“No, Mickey – christ. Not fucking 'all of a sudden' – did the accident ruin your fucking hearing, too? I fucking said – it wasn't something I just decided to do. I waited day after fucking day for you to remember me! Yes, I made you that fucking book and I helped out as much as I could -”

“You...it was you that filled the house with the food and the video games that I liked...wasn't it?” Mickey said slowly, a vague memory of walking into his house and finding the cupboards filled with his favourite foods, his PlayStation waiting with his favourite games. Hadn't Mandy told him that it was Ian who'd done it? Mickey couldn't remember. He brought himself back to the present. Ian wasn't meeting his eyes again. 

“Of course it was me! I did everything I fucking could but what was I supposed to do? Wait for fucking ever?”

“No, I just -”

“I moved on. I had to. What else was I going to do, Mickey?”

“Stop – I fucking -” His head was about to split open, he was sure of it. It was getting harder and harder to ignore it. With every word he spoke, every movement of his head and every fucking blink, his head would throb painfully. He couldn't keep this argument up much longer and his voice was coming out softer, quieter now. “Please – Ian – I thought you would want to know.”

“I didn't. I don't.” Ian's voice was stilted. Mickey had one hand on his head again as it gave a painful throb. Ian wouldn't look at him. “It's too late. I'm with someone else now.”

“I didn't come here expecting it all to go back to normal, Ian. I told you – the first thing I fucking said – was that I knew you were with someone. You think I'm here to invite you back home?”

The word 'home' seemed to have some sort of effect on Ian. Mickey watched as he appeared to be struggling with himself. His hands twisted together and his eyes finally pulled up from the floor, latching on to Mickey's face. Mickey stared, pleading with his eyes. He just wanted Ian back. He wanted him as he'd never wanted anything before; the longing within him felt as if it would burst free and Mickey, once again, couldn't believe he ever could have forgotten how deeply he felt for Ian.

“This is my home. I told you before, it's too late. I've moved on and you need to, too.” Ian said slowly. He reached down to the chair he'd vacated earlier and picked up his phone that must have dropped from his pocket. “If you won't leave, then I will.”

Mickey could only watch him go. The pain in his head was making his knees weak and he couldn't form words, couldn't stop him but there were tears prickling his eyes now and he wiped them away furiously with the palm of his hand. The front door of the Gallagher house slammed and Mickey stumbled forward slightly, reaching out for the couch and finding it somehow in enough time to collapse into it. All he could do was hold his head and wait, wait for the pounding to go away while tears streaked his cheeks and confusion set in. What the fuck had just happened?

As the minutes wore on, his head slowly became less painful. The throbbing lessened to a dull ache and Mickey was able to sit up on the couch in the Gallagher's living room. It was an odd situation, to be like this in someone else's house; he couldn't leave, not yet. He was worried he would be sick. This was the worst his head had been in a long time, since the day before when his memory had come back. He had forgotten how much it had hurt, how much it could hurt. It was nothing compared to the hurt inside, though.

Words were coming back to him now, as he had known they would. _'I'm fine and I don't need you.' 'It's too late. I'm with someone new.'_ What had Mickey expected? Not that. Not Ian's anger. He had not expected to go in and have everything be okay – why would Ian suggest that? Mickey ran his hands over his face. The whole situation had gotten ridiculously out of control. Mickey had wanted to talk to Ian, maybe talk about the memories that had come back. He had expected it to be...nice. To see Ian again, to maybe see his smile. It felt as though Mickey had been underwater for so long, trapped and unable to breathe, silently suffocating. Seeing Ian had felt like finally coming up for air, finally seeing what had been right in front of him for so long.

How long had he waited for someone like Ian? He had never even been aware that he was waiting for someone, that someone different would come along. Mickey had put up with so much shit in his life that it seemed wildly unfair – even as he thought this, he knew he was one of the lucky ones. He had gotten away from his abusive father, he made a decent living and could provide for his son. How long had he waited for that final piece of the fucking puzzle? Ian had been it. Ian had been it from the beginning and it had scared the shit out of Mickey but he'd wanted it, he'd wanted Ian. It had taken him years to get used to who he was, years to finally accept that. It had taken only months for Ian to undo him completely and wrap himself around Mickey so tightly that Mickey had had no choice but to accept it. He had been twenty-six years old before he knew what love truly was; how had he forgotten that? And it was all for nothing. It had taken him so fucking long to open up; Ian had coaxed Mickey out of his shell, inch by inch. And what for? Fucking nothing.

Now it was gone. It was gone. Mickey laid his still painful head back on the couch and shut his eyes tight. Ian was gone. Ian didn't want him. Ian had moved on. Suddenly, Mickey wanted a drink. Needed a drink. He hadn't been allowed to drink for so long because of his head – the doctor had given him the all clear long ago, though, and today seemed the perfect fucking excuse to drink.

There were so many emotions still swirling around inside of Mickey, twisting around his insides. Jealousy. It was jealousy that was filling him now. Somebody else was going to hold Ian at night. Somebody else would kiss him, fuck him. Mickey was so angry at Ian, so fucking pissed, that he didn't want Ian right in that moment but that didn't mean he wanted someone else to have him. Ian was still his, in a weird, fucked up way. Mickey didn't want him, but he did. 

He knew he needed to leave. This was not his house. He wasn't comfortable lying on someone else's couch silently crying – he wasn't comfortable crying anywhere, for fuck's sake. Mickey sat up straight, wiping his face angrily as he looked around the room. It looked no different to how he remembered it; he'd been here for different parties, birthdays. It was the last time he would be here, he realised quietly. There would be no need to come back here. He needed to make a clean break. No more Debbie, no more Carl. He couldn't see them any more. Fiona...Fiona came back to him as he stood up and caught sight of a photo of her on a nearby shelf. Fiona had visited him, he was sure of it. He remembered her kind face, her wide smile. Mickey turned away and headed for the front door.

The sun was bright, too bright, as Mickey stepped out of the house and onto the front porch. Ian's car was still sitting outside meaning Ian had taken off on foot. Mickey looked away from it and headed for his own. He didn't take one last look. He couldn't. Besides, he thought as he climbed into his own car and started it, the Gallagher house didn't hold as many memories as his own. The idea of moving fell into Mickey's head and he caught hold of it. He would move. Maybe to another city? It didn't seem like an unreasonable idea. He didn't want to be here any more. He didn't want to risk running into Ian, though he knew that was not likely to happen.

Before he even realised where he was going, Mickey had pulled up outside The Alibi on the south side. Fuck. He hadn't been here for years. His dad had been here often – shit, Yevgeny's christening party had been held here. Mickey shook the unwanted memories from his head and climbed out of the car, locking it as he made his way into the bar.

Nothing had changed, except for the person behind the bar. He wondered briefly if Ian would know why Kevin and Vee weren't running it any more but very quickly remembered he was trying to forget about Ian. Mickey approached the bar and ordered a beer, knowing already it wouldn't be strong enough but he didn't care.

He paid for his drink and found a table in the back of the bar, quiet and away from any of the alcoholics who were in a bar this early on a Sunday morning. He downed the beer quickly, enjoying the warmth that was already beginning to spread through his body.

Fuck Ian. _Fuck Ian._ Mickey stared intensely at the table, his eyes following patterns in the grain of the wood as his mind worked into overdrive. Fuck that ginger-haired asshole. Mickey couldn't believe how much of a fucking roller-coaster this whole thing had been. To find Ian, fall for his fucking ass and his goddamn fucking face, move in with him, go as far as wanting to fucking propose and then to lose it all. Every single bit of it. And then, after a fucking year of nothingness, to be brought so suddenly back into knowing Ian, knowing everything about him. Knowing how in love he was, how fucking happy he was...Mickey thumped his fist on the table. And now it was gone again. Now he was losing it all over again but this time, he remembered it all. This time he couldn't forget. No matter how much beer he drunk, no matter where he moved. Ian wouldn't go away. Mickey knew that. Ian would never leave him, not totally. And that fucking sucked ass.


	24. Weight Of It All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Broken pieces, we will rise again from the dirt."

_One year and two weeks after//_

The seasons had come full circle since Mickey's accident. Ian remembered the weather warming up, little by little, when the accident had happened. This year, summer seemed determined to arrive early. The sun would rise hot and only when it begun to sink again at the end of the day did it cool down. Ian hated it.

He hated a lot of things these days. Work was one of them. He no longer enjoyed it. Hitomi was working less days a week to spend more time with her newborn daughter and Ian's workload had almost doubled. It did provide a distraction, though. When Ian was at work, he was less likely to dwell on what an idiot he was.

Mandy wouldn't talk to him. Grace wouldn't, either. They'd both told him what they thought of his decision in regards to Mickey and that had been it; Ian hadn't heard from them since. He'd tried – he sent Mandy a text almost everyday. Usually just stupid stuff or personal jokes, but sometimes they would be longer. Pleading with her to understand. That was hard, though; Ian didn't understand much himself.

Ian tried his best not to think about it. That was the only option. He had lost Mickey. He had lost his friends. Debbie was angry with him but she, at least, hadn't disowned him. Not that she could. They were family. It was lonely. He was lonely. He tried hard not to think of Mickey but it didn't always work that way. Sometimes Ian would see someone who looked like him, or sometimes Ian would just remember how much he fucking loved him and how Mickey had been the only good thing in his life. But he tried not to. It hurt too much.

It was Sunday afternoon. Ian had spent almost the whole day in bed watching trashy TV and eating. Fiona had popped in at one point – his one saving grace for at least she still treated him kindly – but for the most part, he had spent the day on his own. As he scrolled through his phone absent-mindedly, he realised he hadn't text Mandy in a few days.

_Remember the day we met? And you thought I was a fucking creeper who wanted to pick you up?_

Ian pressed send, a small, almost invisible, smile was on his face as he did so. He missed his friend. Ian lay back, pushing his phone away and closed his eyes. Maybe if he fell asleep now, the next day would be better. Maybe he would have Mickey back.

“Ian Gallagher, wake the fuck up! Now! Fucking now, Ian!”

There was a swishing noise and suddenly something was hitting Ian hard in the head. Dazed and slightly confused, he sat up and opened his eyes, desperate for the attack to stop. “The fuck?”

“Get your fucking ass up and out of this god damn bed. Now!” It was Mandy. Her voice was almost hysterical. She had at least stopped hitting him. “Hurry the fuck up!”

“Jesus fuck, Mandy. What the fuck are you doing here?” Ian shouted back. Now that he'd woken up properly, he remembered he didn't really like being woken up by way of a beating. He stayed on the bed, rubbing his still tired eyes before staring up at the Milkovich standing in his bedroom. Mandy's eyes were flashing angrily at him, her hands on her hips. She was breathing heavily. Fiona was standing in the hallway, biting her lip. “Fi – what the fuck did you let her in for?”

That got him another slap across the head. “She let me in because she feels the same as me – that you're being a fucking idiot.”

Fiona made a face at Ian but he waited and she didn't disagree with Mandy. He glared up at the Milkovich in his bedroom. “Fuck you. Go away.”

“No fucking way.” Mandy sat down on the bed next to him, her arms and legs so tightly crossed Ian wondered if she would ever be able to undo them. “Let me get this fucking straight. You become a fucking recluse and refuse to do anything except work, sleep and eat. You send me idiotic text messages everyday like that makes up for your stupidity. You throw away the only real relationship you've ever had. You give up. Does that all sound right?”

“No – I haven't -”

“Bullshit. Everything I just said was right. You gave up.”

“Mandy -” Fiona's attempt at cutting in was drowned out by a glare from Mandy. A Milkovich temper was not to be messed with. Mandy turned her dark stare back to Ian. He didn't want to hear what she had to say but he had a feeling that she was going to say it anyway.

“You gave up, Ian. You were waiting for that moment for a year. A year. And you let him walk away. You let him think you were with someone else.” Mandy softened her voice; could she sense him beginning to shatter into pieces? “You still love him and he still loves you. Whatever reasons you had for getting angry at him, they don't matter now. You're both miserable without each other, and I'm fucking sick of it.”

Mickey was miserable? Shit. Ian could feel his face growing pink; she was right, of course she was. He could feel his eyes stinging and he kept them focused on his lap, his hands twisting tightly together. She was right. What had he done? Fiona had walked away; he wondered if she knew that he had cracked, that Mandy had broken him. A single tear fell down his cheek and he wiped it away. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologise to me. What made you do it? Why did you get so angry at him?”

Ian thought for a moment. “I don't fully know. It just...it just happened. I got angrier and angrier and couldn't stop myself. I hated him so much.”

“You don't hate him.”

“I don't.”

“This whole thing – Ian, it's not fair on anyone. Not on Mickey, not on Yev – he's so confused with what's going on. Most of all, Ian, it's not fair to you. Look at how it's affected you. Fiona called me. She was worried about you. You sleep all the time, you're not eating well. You're not looking after yourself.”

Ian only listened to her. He didn't know what to say; she was right and he knew it. What the fuck had he done? He took a steadying breath and felt himself calming down slightly. “What do I do?”

“You need to make it right.” Mandy stood up and Ian looked at her in surprise. “Grace is waiting for me outside. We're going to dinner.”

Ian raised a questioning eyebrow at her and she flipped him off.

“We're back together. We have been for a long time, you idiot. You miss this sort of shit when you shut yourself away. Maybe if you decide you still want a best friend, you can call me in the morning and I'll tell you all about it.” Mandy turned on her heel and stalked off down the hallway, turning to go down the stairs. Ian heard talking in the lounge and then a moment later the front door opened and closed. Ian sat there for a moment, listening. Would Fiona come up to talk to him? He wasn't sure he could handle more truths about his life. He waited; nothing. Quietly, he got up and shut his bedroom door.

As Ian lay back down on the bed, he pulled his phone towards himself. He knew what he needed to do, but doing it wasn't easy. He didn't like to admit he was wrong, but this time...how had he fucked up so bad? How had he let it go on? Ian cast his mind back to his argument with Mickey, how he stormed out and waited around the corner for Mickey to leave so that he could return home. How down Mickey had looked leaving Ian's house, how Ian had wanted to go to him even then. And why didn't he? Mandy was right and Ian had fucking known it even then, even when he was yelling at Mickey despite the fact that he clearly had a headache. It had taken a year for Mickey's memory to return but only a few minutes for Ian to fuck everything up again.

And he'd lied, he'd lied about being with someone else. It had come easy to him seeing as he'd only broken up with Charlie the day before but it was a lie all the same. When Mandy had found out, she hadn't even spoken to him. She'd walked away and he didn't blame her. He would walk away from it all if he could.

He needed to do it now. He needed to call him. Ian dialled the number that he knew off by heart, the number he'd always know off by heart. The seconds seemed to drag out where all he could hear was the dial tone. There was a click.

“Hello?”

Mickey sounded nervous. Surely he would know who was calling? Would he still have Ian's number saved? Or did he know the number, too? “Hi. It's Ian.”

“I know.”

Ian paused, not sure where to begin. He took a breath and went for it. “I need to see you.”

“Okay.” Mickey wasn't giving him anything. Ian closed his eyes, squeezing them tight.

“When – when can I?”

He heard Mickey sigh and waited. It felt like fucking forever. “Can you come over now?”

Ian was on his feet before the phone call had even finished. “I'll be there soon.”

\--

Mickey slammed the front door of his house shut. The windows rattled. The house was empty. Silent. He was alone.

Did he think that by the ripe fucking age of twenty fucking eight that he would have his life in order? Yes. Was he fucking pissed off that he didn't? Yes. Did he think that maybe he'd be settled in a comfortable relationship with someone he loved? Yes. Did he think that the one person he did love would have come around by now? Fucking yes. He stomped into the kitchen and almost threw the bag of shopping he had in his hands onto the counter. Did he think that Grace or Mandy or Fiona or fucking someone would have tried to make Ian see sense? Yes. Mickey tipped the contents of the bag out; frozen pizza. Beer. Chocolate. Fucking picture of health, he was.

Mickey was not going to Ian first. He refused. He would not. Why the fuck should he? That was the main question in his mind. Why should he? When Ian treated him the way he did, yelled at him, told him to leave...Ian didn't want him. But he did, deep down. Mickey knew he did. Or, at least, that's what he would tell himself in the middle of the night when his sadness would wash over him in the dark. Ian wanted him. Ian loved him. Ian just didn't know it. And how fucking ironic that their roles had switched, because Mickey was sure Ian would have done the same fucking thing when Mickey lost his memory. Ian would have begged for Mickey to remember him, he would have cried at the fucking injustice of it all.

And now they'd switched roles and Mickey was not happy. One beer in hand and the rest in the fridge, he shoved the pizza in the oven roughly and slammed it closed. Fuck Ian. Fuck this whole fucking dumb fucking situation. If Ian wanted him, he could come and fucking get him. Mickey wasn't doing shit.

Mickey's phone was ringing loudly. He'd dumped it on the couch as he'd walked through to the kitchen and he went to find it now, already taking bets in his mind as to who it would be. Mandy, maybe? She had taken to checking up on him almost daily. Her or Grace.

Unknown number. Unsaved.

But he knew who it was even if it wasn't saved into his phone. It was Ian's number. He didn't know how he knew that, but he knew with every ounce of his being that it was Ian's number. Fuck. Fuck. Mickey contemplated not answering but his curiosity got the better of him. He could feel nerves suddenly rushing through him and his hand shook slightly as he pressed the button to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It's Ian.”

Well, no fucking shit. “I know.”

He could hear Ian taking a breath; was he nervous? As nervous as Mickey was suddenly feeling? “I need to see you.”

Fuck. “Okay.” Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

“When can I?” Mickey sighed deeply; fucking fuck. He ran possibly situations through his head, or what he thought it would be. An apology, maybe? Fuck it.

“Can you come over now?” Better to get it over with than wait for it to fucking happen. He heard movement on the other end of the line.

“I'll be there soon.”

Fuck.

They didn't say goodbye. Both hung up at the same time. Mickey had no idea what to think but the beer in his hand was disappearing fast. How long would Ian take to get here? Ten minutes? Mickey glanced around; the house was a fucking mess. Clothes were lining the floor along the hallway and into the bedroom. Dishes in the kitchen. Empty cans and bottles in the living room. Did Mickey care? Fuck no.

And just as quickly he decided that yes, he did fucking care. Somehow finding energy out of fucking nowhere, he started cleaning. Empty beer cans and old pizza boxes were swept up and taken out, dishes shoved into the sink and semi out of sight, He could do nothing about the pile of clothes except to throw them in the laundry basket. When he was done – it took a surprisingly short amount of time – the house was slightly more acceptable to the eye. He sat down on the couch with a new beer and waited.

A car passed by outside and Mickey leaned forward in his seat, waiting. When it drove by without stopping, he sat back and took a sip of his drink. This happened three more times before the sound of a car stopping out front had Mickey shaking with nerves. He stood up then sat down. He stood up again and caught sight of Ian coming up the front path. Why was he nervous? Fuck. Fuck.

Ian knocked on the door. Mickey thought it odd considering he used to live here but he ignored that. His legs carried him to the front door and he opened it, a switch up of two weeks ago when Mickey stood on Ian's front doorstep. They stared at each other in silence and Mickey knew why he was here. He wasn't going to make it easy for him.

“Hi.” Ian breathed out, his eyes alight with something Mickey couldn't name. Wouldn't name. He didn't want his hopes climbing any higher than they already were. The sun was lighting up Ian's hair so intensely that Mickey could barely look at it. “Can I come in?”

Mickey nodded and stood back, letting him walk through into the living room. Mickey could leave, he could run. Right now. Not come back. That would achieve nothing. And he would be leaving the one thing he wanted most behind. He closed the front door.

Ian had sat down on the couch and Mickey sat next to him, but as far away from him as was possible on the sofa. Mickey couldn't meet his eye, not yet, but Ian was staring at him. Mickey waited, waited some more and after a full minute of silence he finally turned his gaze to Ian. Mickey was shocked to see that he had tears pooling in his eyes.

“I'm sorry.” Ian managed to choke out before the tears started falling and he coughed loudly, wiping his cheeks with the palms of his hands. “Shit. Sorry. I wanted to be more composed than this.”

“S'okay.” Mickey mumbled. The outward show of emotion from Ian was getting to him; he didn't want to make it easy for Ian but at the same time, the sight of him crying was sending his stomach into knots.

Ian took a deep breath. “I'm sorry for treating you the way I did. I was an asshole and I – I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. It was a shit thing to do. Especially after all you've been through this last year. Also – I..I'm not – I'm not with anyone. That day we argued – I'd broken up with him the day before. I just...”

He trailed off and broke eye contact, looking into his lap instead. Mickey wasn't sure what to say, not yet, anyway. The revelation that Ian wasn't with anyone only sent Mickey's hopes higher. Did that mean what he thought it did? In his mind, nothing had changed. From the day before the accident to now, it seemed as if no time had passed. They could go right back to where they were before. But that wasn't the case and he had to remind himself of that. It had been a year. Mickey watched Ian as the latter sniffed and picked at his nails. He took a breath and spoke again.

“I don't know why I acted like that. I waited – I wanted – I tried so hard to move on and forget about you but you have a habit of fucking sticking around.” Mickey smirked at this and he was sure he could see a hint of a smile playing on Ian's lips. Ian's head was still low. “Then you came around and it was like I was angry at you for taking so long, even though it wasn't your fault. I was angry for everything I went through and I blamed you for that.”

“I'm sorry.” The words fumbled out of Mickey's lips without him really thinking about them. Ian looked up from his lap, frowning. “For my brain, you know. I don't -”

Mickey stopped talking. This was some next level soppy shit and he was unsure of how to continue. Ian was watching him and Mickey took a deep breath. Fuck it. It was Ian. Ian would not laugh. Ian would not think it was stupid, would not think Mickey was stupid. Mickey could say what he wanted in front of Ian. He could be who he was and this part of him was Ian's and only Ian's.

“I don't know how I could have forgotten you.”

Ian shook his head slowly, looking down into his lap again. He sniffed a few times and wiped his eyes before continuing. “You have nothing to apologise for, Mick. You went through a year of shit; you didn't ask for any of this.”

“You didn't ask for this either. It's a fucking shit thing that happened and we had no idea how to deal with it. It's not like they have manuals for this shit.”

“I didn't think you'd ever remember me.” Ian said quietly. Mickey could no longer hear cars outside, he couldn't hear birds, he couldn't remember what day it was or what lay beyond the sofa they were sitting on; there was only Ian. He stared at him, his breath held as he waited for him to continue speaking. “To look at your face and see nothing when I needed you to so bad...”

Mickey shuffled a little closer to Ian, just slightly. He wanted to touch him, hold him. How long had it been since they'd been this close? The air felt tangible with the tension in the room. The movement caused Ian to look up and Mickey felt his heart beating a little faster. Ian kept talking. “I need you, Mick. I don't know what was wrong with me – that day when we argued, I just...I don't know who that was. I need you and I'm scared to need you. I'm scared that I couldn't go on without you.”

“There's nothing wrong with that, you idiot. It's not like I had left you; I was there, I just didn't know who you were. Kind of a surreal fucking situation, Ian.” Mickey lifted his lips in a half smile. The time for feeling embarrassed at how soppy the whole situation was was over. Mickey could feel emotion washing through him and he knew Ian was feeling the same. Ian brought this out in Mickey; this whole other part of him that had stayed hidden for how fucking long and now it was out, there was no hiding it again. He could be himself with Ian, he could be whoever the fuck he wanted. Mickey hadn't even seen it coming; he was a totally different person with Ian. How could he have forgotten how good it felt just to look at him? “You're not a burden, Ian.”

“I feel like one. And I've managed to somehow make this about me, even though you're the one who lost a year of his life.” Ian shook his head, roughly this time, and looked away from Mickey again.

“It's not a fucking competition!” Mickey said hotly, moving even closer to Ian still. “We both had a year of shit, okay?”

“We did.” Ian nodded solemnly. Mickey wanted to pull him close. He remembered their early weeks together when it took Mickey so fucking long to open up, to be who he wanted to. Ian had wrapped his arms around Mickey one morning and he'd felt safe. Home. Every possible variation of those words. Mickey had felt them all. It had been the best fucking feeling in the world to be held by Ian. But now Ian was looking lost and Mickey wanted to take it all away. Ian's voice cut into his thoughts. “I'm sorry.”

–

“I'm sorry.” Ian said, and he meant it. He poured every single ounce of him into that apology and hoped like fuck that it sounded as sincere as he meant it to. “I'm sorry for it all.”

“I don't think either of us needs to apologise any more.” Mickey said quietly, his voice thick. Ian turned his head and he knew what was coming, knew what he wanted to happen more than anything. What he had wanted since Mickey stood on his doorstep two weeks ago. “It's over now, Ian.”

“It's over.” Ian agreed, his eyes flicking from Mickey's lips and back up to his eyes again. “Mick, I -”

Mickey's mouth stopped the rest of the sentence. And all at once, Ian felt like no time had passed. Like the accident had never happened. Mickey felt the same, tasted the same, as he always had. Ian responded with hunger, needing more of Mickey, as much as he could get. A year of emotions were being poured into the kiss and Ian could feel himself being swept away. It was as if none of it had ever happened; Mickey's hands were around his waist, pulling him closer. Ian found Mickey's hair and let his fingers move through it, running down and onto Mickey's neck. A soft moan from Mickey and Ian could have stayed there forever. He pulled back, though, with a slight noise of disappointment from Mickey.

  
  


 

“I just -” He was breathless, his eyes not leaving Mickey's lips as their foreheads stayed pressed together. Mickey was breathing heavily. “I need to say something first. I am sorry – no shut up, I am – and I shouldn't have treated you like that. But I don't want to rush this. I don't want to...I don't want to rush us. What if we go too fast? What if it's different between us?”

“Fuck me, Gallagher. I wasn't suggesting a fucking engagement!” Mickey shot back and there was an awkward moment where their eyes met and each knew what the other was thinking. Mickey had no idea Ian had been planning on proposing to him but it was known by both that Mickey had wanted to ask Ian to marry him. Mickey moved closer, his head dipping as he nipped at Ian's neck with his lips and teeth. It sent a jolt straight through him and the idea of getting married left his mind. “This is me. This isn't different. I missed you. Fuck, I missed this.”

Ian let out a low groan, his lead falling back slightly to give Mickey better access to his neck. “I missed you, too.”

“Well are we going to fuck awkwardly on the couch or should we make it to the fucking bedroom at least?” Mickey demanded, smirking slightly. Ian grinned up at him and answered the question by pushing Mickey off of him and standing up. He headed down the hallway for the bedroom and heard Mickey leap over the back of the couch to follow him. He laughed loudly as Mickey caught up to him before he'd even reached the bedroom; he pushed Ian against the wall and stared into his eyes. “I was just wondering if this means that we're a couple again?”

Ian pushed him off and towards the bedroom, walking with Mickey and pushing softly so that he landed on the bed. Climbing on top of him and pinning his arms down, Ian could feel Mickey reacting to Ian and he was ready, too. He wanted it just as much. He dipped his head down and connected his lips with Mickey's. Mickey opened his mouth straight away, their tongues meeting and Ian's insides twisted with delight. Ian moved his lips down to Mickey's neck, his collarbone. He whispered against Mickey's skin, watching goosebumps appear and enjoying the low moan that escaped Mickey's lips. “Of course we are.”

–

When Mickey woke up, it was dark outside and the street light that stood outside his house shone in the window, lighting up the room. The bed covers were twisted around his legs and piled at the end of the bed. But something else was wrapped around him and with a rush, Mickey remembered the hours before.

Ian. He had Ian. Ian was his again. They had spent the afternoon in bed, wrapped up in each other's bodies and it had been strangely intense, but familiar. Mickey had felt like waking up, waking up and realising how happy he was. How happy he'd been, and the feeling of having that back again...he shivered slightly. Ian's legs were tangled in his own, his arm across Mickey's chest. As carefully as he could, Mickey sat up and reached for the blankets. Success. He pulled them over them both and Ian responded by moving closer, his face nuzzled into Mickey's neck.

Since getting his memory back, Mickey had felt lost. Without Ian, without the final piece, he wasn't whole. He had his memories, he remembered being happy but none of it had mattered because he'd been alone. And now...Ian tightened his grip and Mickey felt warmth rush through him. Now he was complete.

And maybe things would be weird, maybe it would take some adjusting but there would be time for that. Time to talk, time to sort things out. And Mickey didn't care how long it took; he was not letting go. He would work at it, they both would. Fight for what they wanted. They would not lose each other again; Mickey was sure of it.


	25. All In One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We're puzzle pieces; we fit all adding up."

_The Day Of//_

Ian would be awake soon. Mickey knew this because he knew Ian. He knew him like the back of his hand, knew him like he knew his own face, maybe better than that. And it was this, and a million other things, that told him he was doing the right thing in proposing to Ian. Tonight was the night. He'd been planning this for almost a year, now. The day of their five year anniversary had finally arrived and he would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous; nerves were making up about ninety percent of what he was feeling as he lay in bed. Excitement. Love. Happiness. They all mixed in to make up the final ten percent and Mickey knew they would take over eventually. Because he loved Ian. He loved Ian like he'd never loved anyone; he had come so far in five years and it had all led to this day. Five years.

Ian's alarm went off and Mickey tensed up. Ian's legs stretched out in the bed slowly and then quickly back up; he was awake. Mickey picked up his phone and hastily opened his email inbox in the hopes that Ian would think he was doing work, and not lying there pondering their life together. Mickey attempted a sleepy voice but he knew Ian wouldn't be fooled. “You awake?”

Ian rolled over and Mickey squinted – he should be wearing his fucking glasses – and kept his eyes on his phone. If he looked at Ian, took in his face or his smile or his eyes, he would break. He would ask it now. He needed to talk about something random. A saving grace arrived in the form of a text from Svetlana.

_Can Yevgeny stay with you this weekend?_

“Svetlana text and asked if we could have Yevgeny on the weekend.”

It worked. Ian shifted closer to Mickey in the bed as he mumbled something. “Isn't Grace's party this weekend?” Ian's arm snaked across Mickey's bare chest and Mickey thought he might die from the contact. All of his nerves were on end; he couldn't handle this. As Ian took a deep breath, Mickey locked his phone and put it on the table. 

“Are you smelling me again, Gallagher?” He flicked an annoyed look Ian's way but Ian responded with a grin and Mickey's stomach tied itself further into knots.

“I like how you smell.” Picture of fucking innocence. Mickey moved his arm around Ian's shoulder and pulled him close. He couldn't handle the asshole's face right now. It was full of love and half-asleep admiration.

“You're a fuckin' weirdo.”

“Yeah, but you fuckin' love it.” Ian had him there.

Mickey's alarm – shrill and fucking horrible – cut into the moment perfectly. “This fucking alarm!” Mickey hissed under his breath, quietly thankful. He climbed out of bed and collected a few random pieces of clothing and headed for the bathroom, calling back over his shoulder as he did so. “Grace's party is the following weekend. You okay with Yev staying?”

“Of course!” Ian's reply followed him into the bathroom as he shut the door and stripped off his boxers, turning the shower on as he did so. It was fucking cold. Once the shower was warm enough, he climbed in. So far nothing had been said about their anniversary but Mickey knew it was coming. He knew Ian. Ian wasn't going to let Mickey get away with not mentioning it this morning. Ian would be in any second to take his meds so Mickey grasped for the first song that came into his head – Adele? Really? Fucking radio bullshit – and hoped that Ian wouldn't approach the subject now. He sung it as loud as he could stand.

“Hey, Mick. Do you feel like pancakes?

God fucking damn, Mickey was lucky. “Yeah, man. I'll be out soon.” 

Ian left the bathroom without saying any more. Shit. Mickey was sure he would have said something by now – what if Ian had forgotten? A quick grin crossed his face as he rinsed the soap suds from his body. If Ian had forgotten, Mickey could use it in the future. But that was not likely to be the case; they'd briefly mentioned their anniversary the night before. Ian hadn't forgotten. He was no doubt waiting for Mickey to remember.

Mickey climbed out of the shower and instantly felt the cold. He dressed quickly in his jeans and shirt – surprisingly good choice considering he'd picked them at random – and went back into the bedroom. He could hear Ian in the kitchen and he could smell the pancakes. His stomach gave a loud growl of hunger. Mickey had to acknowledge what day it was. He had to say something. What kind of asshole would he be to ignore it completely? He put his phone in his pocket and sighed deeply. Here we fucking go, he thought bitterly.

“Smells fucking good.” The table was laid out with all sorts of toppings for the pancakes – lemon, sugar, maple syrup – and there was a mug of coffee on the table waiting for him. Ian was placing a plate of steaming pancakes on the table and Mickey made a beeline for him, kissing his temple softly. Fuck, he tasted like sugar and Mickey wanted to fall down onto his knees and ask there and then. “Happy anniversary.”

It worked. Ian smiled warmly and returned the sentiment. Mickey sat down and immersed himself in the pancakes – fucking chocolate, his favourite – and hoped that Ian wouldn't ask any more. He wasn't fucking lucky enough. “So, are we doing anything tonight?”

Mickey's fork was halfway to his mouth and he kept his eyes on his plate. He didn't want to give anything away. Shit fuck shit. What would he do? His mind whizzed through a list of possible excuses and settled on the most believable. He met Ian's eyes. “I have to work late.”

Perfectly demonstrating how well Mickey knew Ian, he watched as the green eyes betrayed everything Ian was feeling all at once. Disappointment, anger, sadness. It all flashed by in an instant and then Ian hitched a fake smile onto his face. “That sucks. Pick up some take out on your way home?”

Fuck. Mickey nodded silently, not trusting himself to speak any further. He buried his head in his plate, annoyed that he was running out of food to eat. Ian stood up suddenly and took his empty plate to the sink. “You mind cleaning up? I need a shower.”

Shit fucking fuck.

–

Ian darted for the hallway and hoped like fuck that Mickey wouldn't follow him. He'd forgotten, he must have. Why else would he make up some bullshit about working late? Mickey was a shit liar and he knew it, they both knew it. Why would he lie? Couldn't he have just been honest about forgetting?

Ian shut himself in the bathroom and took a deep breath. No need to panic. If Mickey had forgotten – Ian was leaning towards this explanation more and more as the seconds wore on – then it wasn't a big deal. Sure, Ian was a little hurt. He turned the shower on and climbed in, shivering while he waited for the water to warm up. Well, he was a lot hurt. It hurt. That was obvious. But it wasn't the end of the world. Maybe they would argue over it but Ian wasn't stupid; it wasn't a big deal. Was it?

He washed his hair quickly, wanting to get out and question Mickey but then he thought better of it. He didn't think he wanted to be late to work after having an argument – if that's what it was going to come to, he'd rather do it after work. Ian dressed quickly and gathered his things together. His laptop bag was still in the closet where he'd put it the night before and he retrieved it now. Standing in the bedroom, he took a deep breath. He could do this. He just needed to get through the day and then he could rip Mickey limb from limb for forgetting after work.

He walked into the lounge and hoped that his smile was working in convincing Mickey that he was fine, just fine. 

“Ready to go?” Mickey asked. His voice was upbeat; pretty happy for someone who'd already ruined Ian's day.

“Yep.” Ian answered, letting a little bit of ice into his voice. Mickey collected his things and Ian picked up his keys. It was crisp outside; still cold. There was some sun attempting to make it's way through the clouds but it wasn't doing much. They walked towards Ian's shitty car and climbed in. Radio off, he thought bitterly. Fuck Mickey. He was going to make this as awkward as possible. He focused on the road the entire time and could see Mickey glancing at him every now and then.

They pulled up outside Mickey's current work site, an old doctor's clinic that they were remodelling into a restaurant. Ian kept his eyes ahead. “See you tonight, I guess.”

Mickey sighed, one hand on the door handle. When he spoke, his voice was full of nerves. “You got me, right man?”

Well, Ian thought, that almost fucking got him. Their silly tradition that had started a month into dating; Ian had stayed over at Mickey's and was telling him a story the following morning about a conversation he'd had with his colleague. He'd called Mickey his boyfriend to her but they hadn't actually addressed the word. Mickey had reacted weird but after a brief talk – and maybe a quick fuck – Ian had grinned at Mickey and proudly declared, “I've got you. You're mine, Milkovich.” They'd spent all morning in bed, Mickey asking Ian to say it over and over again. Then, when they'd been silent for so long Ian was sure Mickey had fallen asleep, Mickey whispered into the room. “And I got you, man.” Ian had smiled so brightly; it was their own south side way of saying how they felt and it fit them perfectly.

Ian turned in his seat, desperately fighting the smile that was forming at the corner of his mouth. “I've got you, Milkovich. You're mine. Now go to work and don't be late. I'll see you tonight.”

He pulled away and saw Mickey grinning in the rear view mirror. Ian allowed himself a little smile. He wondered if Mickey had any idea what was coming. Ian drove to work, excitement overtaking his anger at Mickey for forgetting. He couldn't wait to finish work and finally ask Mickey to marry him.

–

_One Year and Six Months Later//_

It had been harder than Ian had thought it would be. Harder than they had both expected. They had struggled initially, and Ian had felt like they might break apart again. He wasn't sure why it was hard – they were the same people, but they weren't. Mickey's moods were different, he dealt with things differently. A call to Dr Castillo had told Ian that this was normal behaviour for those who had suffered a head injury. It meant that Ian in turn acted differently around Mickey to accommodate his new moods. They fought, bickered, argued in the first few weeks. They didn't move in together again straight away; they both agreed that it would be best to take it slow and work back up to it. 

They went on dates. Dates at the movies, restaurants, bars. They went shopping together. They went to Grace's birthday party together. Liam's school play. It was almost like meeting all over again, but they knew what buttons to press, they knew how to work each other. They knew how to wind the other up. Ian knew that if he wore any shade of green, Mickey would lick his lips when he looked at him. He knew that one accidental brush of his arm and goosebumps would form. They knew just by one look when it was too much, when they had to find somewhere or they would burst with not being able to touch each other. He knew what Mickey sounded like when they were wrapped together, sweat covering their bodies and 'I love you' being whispered over and over again. 

It was hard but at the same time it was fucking easy because it was Mickey. It was his Mickey. And they both knew that they would fight for it, no matter how hard it was. They had been through hell and back just to get to where they were now; happy, safe. There were times when Ian's mood would get the better of him and sadness would creep into their lives. They would ride it out, though, and they would continue to do so. Mickey was always at his side and Ian could do anything knowing that. 

After three weeks, Ian stayed at Mickey's almost every night. He would only return home for more clothes. Fiona told him to move back out. Carl told him to move back out. Liam told him to move back out. Mickey asked him to move back in. And so he did. But this time was different; it wasn't new and awkward. There were no weird moments of whose stuff went where. It was like coming home. Ian was home.

And now it was Ian's birthday. They were having a party – he was a Gallagher, after all – and everyone was going to be there. Hitomi was going to make an appearance with Kai, her newborn son. Grace and Mandy would be there, as the solid unit they had been for awhile now. How Ian had missed it, he wasn't sure but they were closer than ever in a weird parallel of Ian and Mickey. His family would be there. Amanda and Lip. Svetlana and Yevgeny. And Mickey would be there. Mickey would be there to celebrate with him. That's what would matter most.

As Ian stood in front of the giant cake that Debbie had baked him – with Liam and Yev – Ian glanced around at everyone who was singing to him. No one was singing as loudly as Mickey. He blew out his candles and wished for nothing more than for things to stay as they were, right now.

“Ian!” Fiona called through the heads as they bobbed up and down to music. Ian glanced up from where he was talking to Carl and saw her gesturing to Hitomi who was putting her coat on. He made his way over to where she was standing; Fiona was holding Kai close, whispering sweet nothings into his small ear.

“You're off?” He asked and Hitomi nodded. “Thanks for coming! I really appreciate it.”

“I'm sorry Malik couldn't come.” Ian waved his hand to brush off her comment. “He said to wish you a happy birthday anyway. I wanted to give you our gift before I go.”

Hitomi reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small box. She pressed it into his hands and he frowned up at her. “What is it?”

“Open it and you'll find out.” Fiona put in, looking up from the baby she was holding. Hitomi laughed, taking her son into her arms and watching Ian as he opened the box.

It was a small pale pink stone, round and smooth. It sat on a soft cushion and Ian wondered if this was where it was supposed to be kept. There was a small piece of card and he pulled it out.

_Rose Quartz. Promotes unconditional love, joy and healing._

“I know it's a little silly, but I thought you could use some joy after the last year.” Hitomi said in a rush but the end of her sentence was muffled as Ian enveloped her and her son into a hug. He pulled back and gave her a watery smile.

“This is perfect. Thank you.”

Slowly, one by one, people began to leave after that. Soon there was only a handful of people left and it was these people that made him the happiest. Lip had left to buy coffees for everyone and they all sat around the small living room, drinking and talking quietly. When Lip had entered the house and handed them out, along with the muffins he'd bought, Ian was reminded of another time something similar had happened, after Mickey's accident. It didn't make him as sad as it used to. Ian took them all in; Mandy and Grace somehow intertwined comfortably and sharing a single armchair. Debbie sitting on the floor and leaning against their chair. Lip and Amanda had the couch, Lip with his arm around her as he told a story from when they were kids. Mickey let out a scoff of disbelief from next to Ian and Ian turned to him, a smirk on his face.

“You okay?” He asked quietly and Mickey didn't answer, instead he reached across and held Ian's hand tight before verbally attacking Ian's brother.

“I call fucking bullshit on that, Lip.” Mickey said his name like it was dirt in his mouth but there was no malice behind it. Mickey and Lip had long reached an understanding and it only made Ian happier. “There's no fucking way people paid you to sit their exams for them.”

“Actually, it's true.” Mandy piped up, her pale cheeks turning pink. Grace was glancing at her with a sly smile on her face. “I got him to do one for me.”

Mickey sputtered while the others laughed and Ian squeezed his hand. Lip had that classic smug look on his face that they all knew well. “Told you, Milkovich.”

Ian grinned widely at them all. Mandy said something to Grace and the latter nodded before they both stood up. Grace looked over at him. “We're off, Ian.”

“Thanks for coming.” Ian replied, standing up and walking to the door with them. Lip and Amanda followed in their wake. “You guys off, too?”

“Yeah. See you next week though, right?” Amanda asked and Ian smiled. “Maybe next year we can just combine our birthday parties.”

Ian laughed and waved goodbye as the two couples left the house. He could hear Mickey disappearing off down the hallway and shut the front door. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed but the house was a mess and he didn't want to wake up to it the next day. He set about cleaning the kitchen.

–

Mickey was shaking.

His hands were shaking. His whole body was shaking. His heart was racing. He felt dizzy. Nerves were twisting his gut and he thought that maybe, just maybe, he might vomit. He hadn't eaten much all evening. He hadn't drunk much. Mickey had waited patiently, sometimes not so patiently, for the evening to wind down. And then Lip had to go and buy coffees for fucking everyone so they all stayed longer.

Not that he didn't enjoy it. The easy familiarity of the night was comfortable. Having people he loved around him, having Ian with him. It had been a good evening overall. Debbie had cornered him at one point, when Ian was in the bathroom, and pressed something small into his hands. He'd almost passed out then and there. Instead, he darted into the bedroom and stuffed it in a sock and at the back of a drawer. Just in time; Ian had come out of the bathroom as Mickey shut the drawer and he'd made up some bullshit about needing the toilet.

Everything had been building up to this moment. For how long had he planned this proposal? At least two years, now. The idea had come to him long before his accident, long before their five year anniversary. He'd never got the chance to ask. He'd planned it right down to what he wanted to say, the words he'd wanted to say everyday for so long now. It was his moment to be open, be honest about everything that was mixed up inside of him. It was all still planned out in his head.

This was his second chance. This was it. And he was fucking shaking with fucking nerves. He couldn't stop them. He was worried Ian would have noticed – he hadn't quite been his self all evening but everyone else had kept Ian busy and it was only every now and then that the red head would peer over and smile at Ian. That smile...fuck. Mickey took a deep breath. He was pacing the bedroom floor, trying to work up his courage. He wanted this. He had no doubts. But the idea of it was still terrifying to him.

As quietly as he could manage, Mickey pulled open the drawer and felt at the back for the lumpy sock that contained the ring he'd bought so long ago. There was a moment when he couldn't find it and panic zipped through him; what if Ian had found it? But then his hand closed around it and he pulled it out, taking it out of the sock and shutting the drawer. He stared at it in his hand. It was so small to represent so much. Mickey thought about Ian. He thought about his face, the way Ian would look at him sometimes like Mickey was the beginning and ending of everything and it killed him. He wanted so bad to live up to how Ian saw him. It was hard but he tried. Mickey hoped that Ian understood how far he'd come, how much he'd grown with Ian. Because it was a big fucking deal.

There was the sound of a small crash from the kitchen and Mickey heard Ian call out that it was nothing. He took a breath. Another. Five more. Was he ready yet? He wasn't sure. But if he didn't do it now, he would stand in this bedroom all night and pace until the carpet was worn out underneath his feet.

“Ian?” Even his voice was shaking. He cleared his throat gruffly, shoved the small box into his pocket, and tried again. “Ian? Come here!”

Oh god. Too loud. Mickey wanted to back out. Try again the next day. But it was too late, too late. Ian was coming. He could hear his footsteps coming closer, closer. Suddenly Mickey was standing still in the middle of the room and Ian was in front of him, drying his hands on his jeans and staring at Mickey with a quizzical look on his face.

“You okay, Mick?”

Shit. Fuck. Shitshitshit. Mickey took a breath. One more. Shit. “Ian.” He took another breath.

“Hey, are you okay?” Ian was concerned. He took a step closer, worry in his face. He had no fucking idea, no clue. Mickey needed to do it now. Now, before he lost it altogether and ruined the whole thing.

“I'm – shit – I'm okay.” Mickey took one more breath. This was it. This was it. Fuck. He was already mixing up his words. “Ian, I – fuck – love you. I don't – I never expected – I never thought I would meet someone like you. I never thought I'd be – be loved by someone like you. I don't – we went through so fucking much and I don't want to be – I don't want to be apart from you again and – I don't -”

The ring had somehow made its way into his hands, he was opening the box. He moved down onto one knee because he wasn't going to half-ass this shit, he wasn't going to mess it up or regret anything because he was not fucking doing this again, and Ian was staring, staring with his mouth hanging open but Mickey couldn't stop, he had to keep going or he would lose it. “Ian, do you – fuck it all – will you marry me?”

Ian pulled him up roughly, covered Mickey's mouth with his own. Mickey took this as a good sign, it had to be but Ian still hadn't said anything. Ian's hands were in his hair, down his back, pulling at his shirt. Mickey went with it, nerves still getting the better of him until Ian finally, fucking finally, pulled away and stared into his face. Mickey waited, his breath caught in his throat. 

“You're it for me, Mickey. You're fucking it. Of course I'll marry you, you fucking nerd.” Mickey started to say something but he was struck speechless by Ian taking the ring from him, his hands shaking as much as Mickey's. Mickey watched as he put the ring on, Ian's smile watery as tears formed in his eyes and it was too much for Mickey, too emotional. He had to make a dumb joke, had to say something because his eyes were stinging and it might just push him over the fucking edge.

“Well, I'm glad that's fucking over with.” Ian laughed long and loud, like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard and then he looked at Mickey with that look, that fucking look like Mickey was the most amazing thing he'd ever set eyes on. Mickey had so much to live up to but the hardest part was over. They'd been through shit, they'd come out the other side. And worst of fucking all, Mickey had somehow managed to fucking ask Ian to fucking marry him and if that didn't deserve a beer, he didn't know what did.


End file.
